That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered. “Mr. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. ‘Do not beg my pardon. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. .
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