felt like the antechamber to another world, where mystery is
atmosphere and ordinary air to breathe is not at all. He could
sense hushed expectancy on every side--could feel the eyes of many
women fixed on him--and began to draw on his guard as a fighting
man draws on armor. There and then he deliberately set himself
to resist mesmerism, which is the East's chief weapon.

Rewa Gunga, perfectly at home, sprawled leisurely, along a cushioned
couch with a grace that the West has not learned yet; but King
did not make the mistake of trusting him any better for his easy
manners, and his eyes sought swiftly for some unrhythmic, unplanned
thing on which to rest, that he might save himself by a sort of
mental leverage.

Glancing along the wall that faced the big window, he noticed for
the first time a huge Afridi, who sat on a stool and leaned back
against the silken hangings with arms folded.

"Who is that man?" he asked.

"He? Oh, he is a savage--just a big savage," said Rewa Gunga,
looking vaguely annoyed.

"Why is he here?"

He did not dare let go of this chance side-issue. He knew that
Rewa Gunga wished him to talk of Yasmini and to ask questions about
her, and that if he succumbed to that temptation all his self-
control would be cunningly sapped away from him until his secrets,
and his very senses, belonged to some one else.