Instinctively the woman nature in Numè scented a rival—possibly an enemy. She wished the American gentleman would sit down again. She could not understand why he should stand just because the beautiful shining American lady had wanted to know her. The American girl's partner tapped her lightly on the shoulder, reminding her of the dance, and once more she glided away, leaving a vague unrest behind.
"Is the beautiful Americazan lady your betrothed?"
The man started, though he evaded the question.
"What makes you ask that?"
"All of us have betrothed," the girl said, vaguely. "See, I will show you my betrothed. He stands over there now—talking to the same pretty Americazan lady."
"Takashima!" said Sinclair.
"Ess," the girl answered, happily.
Takashima was talking very seriously to Cleo Ballard. There was an impatient, almost pettish, look on her face. She seemed anxious to get away from him. Sinclair saw her make a motion to Mrs. Davis, and in some way the two women managed to get rid of the Japanese. They stood talking for a moment together, and Sinclair saw them look over in his direction. He noted Cleo's movements almost mechanically, his mind being more absorbed in what Numè had told him about her betrothal to Takashima.
"When does the wedding take place?" he asked, abruptly.
"Oh! I not know. We—Orito and me—do not like much to hurry, the fadders make great haste," she said.