Sengoun, still playing, flung over his shoulder: "A Tartar song from the Turcoman. I borrowed it and put new clothes on
it. Nice, isn't it?"
"Enchanting!" replied Neeland, laughing in spite of himself.
Rue Carew, with her snowy shoulders and red-gold hair, came drifting
in, consigning them to their seats with a gesture, and giving them to
understand that she had come to hear the singing.
So Sengoun continued his sketchy, haphazard recital, waving his
cigarette now and then for emphasis, and conversing frequently over
his shoulder while Rue Carew leaned on the piano and gravely watched
his nimble fingers alternately punish and caress the keyboard.
After a little while the Princess Mistchenka came in saying that she
had letters to write. They conversed, however, for nearly an hour
before she rose, and Captain Sengoun gracefully accepted his congé.
"I'll walk with you, if you like," suggested Neeland.
"With pleasure, my dear fellow! The night is beautiful, and I am just
beginning to wake up."
"Ask Marotte to give you a key, then," suggested the Princess, going.
At the foot of the stairs, however, she paused to exchange a few words
with Captain Sengoun in a low voice; and Neeland, returning with his
latchkey, went over to where Rue stood by the lamplit table absently
looking over an evening paper.
As he came up beside her, the girl lifted her beautiful, golden-grey
eyes.
"Are you going out?"
"Yes, I thought I'd walk a bit with Captain Sengoun."
"It's rather a long distance to the Russian Embassy. Besides----" She
hesitated, and he waited. She glanced absently over the paper for a
moment, then, not raising her eyes: "I'm--I--the theft of that box
today--perhaps my nerves have suffered a little--but do you think it
quite prudent for you to go out alone at night?"
"Why, I am going out with Captain Sengoun!" he said, surprised at her
troubled face.
"But you will have to return alone."
He laughed, but they both had flushed a little.
Had it been any other woman in the world, he had not hesitated gaily
to challenge the shy and charming solicitude expressed in his
behalf--make of it his capital, his argument to force that pretty duel
to which one day, all youth is destined.
He found himself now without a word to say, nor daring to entertain
any assumption concerning the words she had uttered.
Dumb, awkward, afraid, he became conscious that something in this
young girl had silenced within him any inclination to gay effrontery,
any talent for casual gallantry. Her lifted eyes, with their clear,
half shy regard, had killed all fluency of tongue in him--slain
utterly that light good-humour with which he had encountered women
heretofore.