"Is not what?" said the lady, putting up her eye-glass, and adding with some asperity: "Then what is he?" "Let me introduce myself," said Bob, bowing. "My name is Fawcett—an Englishman, at your service." The lady put up her eyeglass and stared with unfeigned amazement, exclaiming under her breath: "A Britisher! Well, of all the extraordinary—You will excuse my surprise, Mr.—Fawcett, I think you said? The circumstances are so remarkable. I fear I owe you an apology, but really—" she turned to her companion and began to tie her bonnet-strings—"it just beats anything." Here Ah-Sam, who had been hovering restlessly in the background, came up and said: "No tim’ belongey this-side, massa. Plenty Chunchu man come this-side chop-chop, makee big bobbely, supposey catchee, he killum allo piecee massa, two-piecee girley, Ah-Sam all-same." "What does the man say?" asked the lady, staring at the Chinaman as at some strange animal. "He says that we must not remain here. The men, Chunchuses apparently, threatened to return, and if they do—well, we shall all be in a very awkward fix. Perhaps if you would let me know who these people are—" "Why certainly. My niece and I are doing Asia. We got as far as Mukden, and there the Russians tried to stop us—said it would not be safe, war was expected. I told them it was all nonsense. They insisted; I persisted. They set a guard over us—free citizens of the United States. Intolerable! We slipped away; naturally;—bribery, of course; very disgusting, but the only way. We struck east for Gensan; got among the hills. Our Chinese guide lost his way, or pretended to, and we were snapped up by a party of brigands, who figured that we spelt dollars, and have kept us with them ever since." "Then you are Mrs.—Mrs. Isidore—?" Bob hesitated, endeavouring to recall a name that for the moment eluded him. "I guess you’re on the right track," replied the lady with a look of surprise. "Pottle—Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle; though it beats me how you happened on my name."