It took him by surprise; an indignity that had not come his way hitherto. People were not in the habit of throwing wet handkerchiefs with stinging force into the face of the Sultan Casim Ammeh.
The force and wetness temporarily blinded him. He was perhaps ten seconds in recovering his sight and his dignity.
Then he looked for the girl.
She was running as fast as she could away from him, down a misty, moonlit path, in her chiffon and diamonds looking a shimmer of moonlight and sparkling dew herself.
Pansy's only desire just then was to get out of the white, romantic moonlit world with its scents and sighs and seductive murmurs, back to one of electric light and ragtime, where there was no Raoul Le Breton looking at her gravely, with glowing eyes.
He had suddenly become a startling menace to her cherished liberty, this big, dark man with his masterful air and high-handed ways.
Whatever he said she would have to listen to. Perhaps even—agree with!
CHAPTER XII
Le Breton did not run after the girl. He watched her go, with a feeling that he could afford to bide his time. But at six o'clock the next morning he was round at the hotel waiting for Pansy to come for her usual ride.