"In a quarter of an hour," she said, "I have to appear again. It is to
be good-night, then?"
She raised her eyes to his, and for a moment the appeal which knows no
nationality shone out of their velvety depths. She stood before him
simply, like a slave who pleads. Not a muscle of Prince Shan's face
moved.
"It is to be good-night, Nita," he answered calmly.
Her head drooped, and she passed out. She had the air of a flower whose
petals have been bruised. Immelan looked after her curiously, almost
compassionately.
"It is finished, then, with the little one, Prince?" he enquired.
"It is finished," was the calm reply.
Immelan stroked his short moustache thoughtfully.
"Is it wise?" he ventured. "She has been faithful and assiduous. She
knows many things."
Prince Shan's eyes were filled with mild wonder.
"She has had some years of my occasional companionship," he said. "It is
surely as much as she could hope for or expect. We are not like you
Westerners, Immelan," he went on. "Our women are the creatures of our
will. We call them, or we send them away. They know that, and they are
prepared."
"It seems a little brutal," Immelan muttered.
"You prefer your method?" his companion asked. "Yet you practise deceit.
Your fancy wanders, and you lie about it. You lose your dignity, my
friend. No woman is worth a man's lie."
Immelan was leaning back in his chair, gazing steadfastly across the
crowded theatre.
"Your principles," he said, "are suited to your own womenkind.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124