"A Shan," he said, "never needs to repeat."
There was the bustle of arriving police, the story of a revolver which had gone off by accident, a very puzzling contretemps expounded for their benefit. The situation, and the participants in it, seemed to dissolve with such facility that it was hard for any one to understand what had actually happened. Prince Shan, with Maggie on his arm, was talking to the leader of the orchestra, who had suddenly reappeared. The former turned to his companion.
"It is not my custom to dance," he said, "but the waltz that they were beginning to play seemed to me to have a little of the lure of our own music. Will you do me the honour?"
They moved away to the music. Chalmers stood and watched them, with one hand in his pocket and the other on Nigel's shoulder. He turned to Naida, who was on the other side.
"Nothing like a touch of melodrama for the emotions," he grumbled. "Look at Lady Maggie! Her head might be touching the clouds, and I never saw her eyes shine like that when she danced with me."
"You don't dance as well as Prince Shan, old fellow," Nigel told him.
"And the Prince sails for China at dawn," Naida murmured.