She thrust him from her, ignored Mellenger and struck a pose.
“There, dear one,” she pleaded, “is your Tamea, then, so much uglier than the women of your own race?”
“You are perfectly glorious, Tamea.”
“As the aurora borealis,” Mellenger spoke up.
Tamea, seemingly not aware of his presence until now, turned upon him eyes which frankly sought a confirmation of the enthusiasm and pride she read in Dan’s. “You like me, too?”
“Queen, you’re adorable.”
He glanced past her to Maisie Morrison, standing, flushed and faintly smiling, in the doorway. Maisie was gazing with an eager intensity at Dan Pritchard, who saw her not. Mellenger twitched the tail of Dan’s coat, and the latter, as if summoned out of a trance, turned and gazed at him inquiringly.
“Introduce me, fool, introduce me!” Mellenger suggested, and Dan complied.
Maisie acknowledged the introduction with a cordial nod and a weary little smile, but Tamea thrust out her long, beautiful hand. “How do you do, Mr. Mel. How are all your people? Very well, I hope.” She swung around to give him a view of her from the back.
“Marvelous,” he declared. “Your Majesty is so beautiful I must make a picture of you at once.”