Fragoni led the way along the stage, walking and chatting with Teuxical, and Dirk, following after the others, was the last to turn a corner that brought him a sweeping view of the magnificent terrace that fronted the private apartments of the banker and his daughter.
And, when he did, he saw that Inga was standing there, superbly beautiful, with Stanton a few paces behind her.
Her lovely eyes were alive with awe and wonder and her slender white hands were crossed over her heart.
And Dirk saw, too, that Zitlan, son of Teuxical, had paused and was standing quite still, with his unwavering and insolent eyes fixed on the girl. Resentment, and a touch of apprehension, agitated Dirk when he saw the expression on the face of the young Lodorian.
There was admiration in that disagreeable countenance, but it was blended with arrogance, haughtiness and ill-concealed desire.
Dirk went quickly to Inga, standing between the girl and the one from Lodore who was staring at her so brazenly.
“What does it all mean, Dirk?” she asked in a low voice. “Those strange people, where are they from?”
Stanton had come quickly forward and had joined Inga and Dirk.
“They are from some far-off world, Inga,” he explained, “that we know nothing about as yet.”