The Rangar nodded. "Trust Yasmini! She saw to that jolly well
before she left Delhi! She would have stayed had there been anything
more to do!"

King began to watch the dance again, for it did not feel safe to
look too long into the Rangar's eyes. It was not wise just then
to look too long at anything, or to think too long on any one subject.

"Ismail is slow about returning," said the Rangar.

"I wrote at the foot of the tar," said King, "that they are to
detain him there until the answer comes."

The Rangar's eyes blazed for a second and then grew cold again (as
King did not fail to observe). He knew as well as the Rangar that
not many men would have kept their will so unfettered in that room
as to be able to give independent orders. He recognized resignation,
temporary at least, in the Rangar's attitude of leaning back again
to watch from under lowered eyelids. It was like being watched by
a cat.

All this while the women danced on, in time to wailing flute-music,
until, it seemed from nowhere, a lovelier woman than any of them
appeared in their midst, sitting cross-legged with a flat basket
at her knees. She sat with arms raised and swayed from the waist
as if in a delirium. Her arms moved in narrowing circles, higher
and higher above the basket lid, and the lid began to rise. Nobody
touched it, nor was there any string, but as it rose it swayed with
sickening monotony.