So it happened that they found themselves settled comfortably in a dark corner watching the parade of boats pass by.
It was a warm night. The lagoon was crowded. All manner of boats were there, speed boats and tiny motor boats, row boats, canoes, dugouts and gondolas. For some time Florence watched in vain for a certain type of boat. When at last her vigil was rewarded, she received a shock.
“Look!” she exclaimed, seizing Erik Nord by the arm. “Look there, at that Dodge-Em!”
“What’s unusual about that?” He looked at her curiously.
“But see who’s riding in it!”
“A Chinaman.” Erik chuckled. “Suits their style. Goes only just so fast. A Chink is seldom in a hurry.”
“But look who it really is—your long-eared Chinaman! The one who—”
There was not time to finish. One look and Erik Nord was away, dragging Florence by the hand across the deck.
* * * * * * * *
Having witnessed the astonishing performance of Indian magic, Jeanne spent an hour wandering about the Fair grounds in a sort of trance. It was impossible to drive from her highly sensitive mind the memory of the booming drum, squeaking flute and whirling magician. And this walking in a trance, as we have suggested, ended in her undoing.