She shook her head. "I think not," she replied.
"Why only 'think'?"
She roused herself with an effort.
"I don't know, Nigel," she confessed. "I can't imagine what is wrong with me. I feel shivery—nervous—as though something were going to happen."
He looked at her curiously. This was a Maggie whom he scarcely recognised.
"Presentiments?" he asked.
"Absurd, isn't it!" she replied, with a weak smile. "I'll get over it directly. I don't think I am going to like Prince Shan, Nigel."
"Well, you haven't been long making up your mind," he observed. "I shouldn't have thought you had been able even to see his face."
"I had a queer, lightning-like glimpse of it," she reflected. "To me it seemed as though it were carved out of granite, and as though all that was human about him were the mouth and the eyes. I wish he hadn't been looking."
"Are you flattering yourself that he will recognise you?" Nigel asked.