"There were some, then, which did not?"
"One or two, I believe."
"And who is this Chinese prince, Mr. Waudle?" she repeated, not smiling. "What is his name?"
Munger answered; he knew exactly what answer to make, and how to deliver it with flowing gestures. He had practised it long enough:
"When I was travelling with His Excellency T'ang-K'ai-Sun by rail from Szechuan to Pekin to visit Prince——"
"The railroad is not built," interrupted the girl drily. "You could not have travelled that way."
Both men regarded her as though paralysed by her effrontery.
"Continue, please," she nodded.
The poet swallowed nothing very fast and hard, and waved his damp hand at her:
"Tuan-Fang, Viceroy of Wuchang——"