Hating the man who held her so close, he turned away. He did not know that his excellency, glimpsing him outside there in the shadows, leaned forward and bowed; he did not observe (or care) that Dixie Carmichael was dancing with the German customs man, while Rocky Kane, suddenly white, lighting one cigarette on another, stood in a corner devouring with his eyes Miss Hui Fei. A little later, when the young man spoke, there at his side, he started; for he had heard no one approach. Rocky was hatless; hair rumpled as if he had been running nervous fingers through it, cheeks deeply flushed, eyes staring rather wildly. He threw his cigarette overboard and squarely faced the huge man in blue. “I don't know what you'll think of me--” he began, in a breathless, unsteady voice; then his eyes wavered. Doane turned with him, Dixie Carmichael stood in the doorway, watching them. Rocky, with a nervous gesture, as if he would brush her away, looked up again into the stern older face. He was plainly lost in himself, burning with the confused fires of youth. “I don't know what you'll think of me--” he came again to a stop. Apparently the words, “Mr. Doane,” would have completed the sentence, but failed for some reason to find voice. Perhaps it was the habit of his wealthy environment that restrained him even now from speaking with more than casual respect to a uniformed employee of a river line; yet, contradictorily, here he was, all boyish humility!.... “I'm a damn fool, of course, I know that. But--you've seen her.” Doane glanced again toward the door. Dixie Carmichael had disappeared. “No--not that one!” cried the boy hotly; then dropped his voice. “The girl in there! The--princess, isn't she?” Doane inclined his head. “Then she'd be the one I--well, you remember.” “She's the same. The Princess Hui Fei--” “Hughie Fay? Like that?” “Yes.” “What a lovely name!.... You--I know you won't understand! It's so hard to--I _am_ young, of course. I've been sort of in wrong. I guess you think I'm a pretty wild lot. I seem to have been trying about everything. But until to-night--oh, there's no use pretending I'm not hit all of a heap. I am. I never saw anything like her--never in my life. I don't know what the pater would say--me falling for a Manchu girl--you think I'm crazy, don't you?” “No.” “Perhaps I am. My head's racing. Just watching her in there makes my pulse jump. I get bewildered. Tell me--she was all Chinese the--the other time--all painted up. Big head-dress with flowers on it. Why did she do that?” “Out of respect to her father. The rouge and the head-dress were according to Oriental custom.” He looked directly down at the boy, and added, deliberately, “Veneration of parents is the finest thing in Chinese life. I sometimes think we have nothing so fine in America.”