The waltz was over. The Kid changed the records and ground the machine. An interpreter left the group of mandarins and spoke with one of the Australians; led the man back to his excellency. A moment later the music sounded again, and the Australian danced lightly away with Miss Hui Fei in what Doane had no means of knowing was the very new one-step. He had never danced; plainly she loved it. She moved like a fairy—light, utterly graceful, her oval face, when she turned, flushed a little and soberly radiant.
Hating the man who held her so close, he turned away. He did not know that his excellency, glimpsing him outside there in the shadows, leaned forward and bowed; he did not observe (or care) that Dixie Carmichael was dancing with the German customs man, while Rocky Kane, suddenly white, lighting one cigarette on another, stood in a corner devouring with his eyes Miss Hui Fei. A little later, when the young man spoke, there at his side, he started; for he had heard no one approach. Rocky was hatless; hair rumpled as if he had been running nervous fingers through it, cheeks deeply flushed, eyes staring rather wildly. He threw his cigarette overboard and squarely faced the huge man in blue.
“I don't know what you'll think of me—” he began, in a breathless, unsteady voice; then his eyes wavered.
Doane turned with him, Dixie Carmichael stood in the doorway, watching them. Rocky, with a nervous gesture, as if he would brush her away, looked up again into the stern older face. He was plainly lost in himself, burning with the confused fires of youth.
“I don't know what you'll think of me—” he came again to a stop. Apparently the words, “Mr. Doane,” would have completed the sentence, but failed for some reason to find voice. Perhaps it was the habit of his wealthy environment that restrained him even now from speaking with more than casual respect to a uniformed employee of a river line; yet, contradictorily, here he was, all boyish humility!.... “I'm a damn fool, of course, I know that. But—you've seen her.”
Doane glanced again toward the door. Dixie Carmichael had disappeared.
“No—not that one!” cried the boy hotly; then dropped his voice. “The girl in there! The—princess, isn't she?”
Doane inclined his head.
“Then she'd be the one I—well, you remember.”
“She's the same. The Princess Hui Fei—”