"'My mother,' she said, quietly and sadly. 'Now do you understand? I could never be like other girls, Mr. Chief.' And she began again: "'_Quand blancs la yo donne yo bal To pas capable aller Comment t 'a vaillant giabal Toi qui l'aime briller!_'" "'That's me, now,' she said. 'I'm Toucouton after all. Well, I must make the best of it.' And she sat there, musing, with her hand on my arm. "'And your father--how is he?' I asked, to change the subject, for I was moved. An expression came into her face which reminded me of him, an expression of grave exaltation and secular raptness. "'Oh,' she said, 'he is developing his properties. There are many difficulties he did not expect. M. Kinaitsky has promised his assistance. They are having trouble with another company. And the _Osmanli_ needs overhauling. They are talking of building a dry-dock.' "The tea was brought out on the balcony by a menial in blue and silver livery with white silk stockings, his beautifully manicured hands arranging the service in front of her. Artemisia did not reply for a moment as she busied herself with pouring out the tea. She had put on a _peignoir_ of raw yellow silk covered with heavy gold thread embroidery, a barbaric thing that must have cost a hundred pounds at least. Round her neck was a fine chain of platinum holding a large sapphire. Her soft dark hair was fastened with a massive comb of silver. On her arm were a dozen bracelets of heavy gold. There was no need to ask about Kinaitsky. Infatuated! She nodded as much. Very rich. Tobacco estates. Selling his crop in London now. She rose and came back with a photograph in a large silver frame. "Well, he was an improvement upon M. Nikitos. Not old either, as I had for some reason imagined. Forty-five, I suppose; a solid, hook-nosed individual with the expensive, well-groomed air we associate with art-dealers. Fine eyes. I put down the picture and sipped my tea. This was all very well, but she had not asked me to come and see her simply to show off, surely. "'And you've called me all the way from Glasgow to see some pretty clothes?' I asked. She looked hard at me for a moment and then dropped her eyes and smiled. She spoke, and in her voice there was the peculiar bell-like resonance I remarked the first time I heard her pronounce her name. "'No, Mr. Chief,' she said, 'I have a favour to ask. A great favour. Will you do something for me? You did like me a little, you know.'