"A Chinaman!" The small head perched inquisitively aslant. "But I'm not, Captain Gray. Why should I be? Why should you dislike the Chinese?" Two things in her speech interested Gray. She seemed to be an Englishwoman. And she had given him his army rank, although he himself had not mentioned it. Most certainly there could be nothing in his appearance to suggest the service. "I have reason to dislike one Chinaman," returned Gray. "So I was obliged to take precautions," he blundered, and then strove to remedy his mistake. "If I had known you were the owner of the _yurt_, I would have come straight here." Too late, he realized that he had made his blunder worse. The girl's brows went up, also her nose--just a trifle. "Why should you be so cautious, Mr. Gray?" The civilian title was accented firmly. Yet a minute ago she had addressed him as "captain." "Surely"--this was plainly ironical--"the Chinese are harmless?" Gray thought grimly of Liangchowfu. "Sometimes," he said, "they are--inquisitive." The girl glanced at him. Surely she did not take this as a personal dig? Gray did not understand women. "Miss"--he hesitated--"_Memsahib_"--she stared--"you see, I've gone beyond the limits mentioned in my passport." He was unwilling, placed in such circumstances, to tell the whole truth of his mission and rank. So he compromised. Which proved to be a mistake. "And the governor fellow of Liangchowfu is anxious to head me off." "Really? Perhaps the official," and she glanced fleetingly at Mirai Khan, "thinks you do not keep good company. Will you show me your passport? You don't have to, you know." No, he did not have to. But in his present plight he felt that a refusal would be a mistake. He moved to reach the papers in his breast pocket, and was checked by the handcuffs. He glanced at Ram Singh angrily. The native looked at him complacently. It was an awkward moment. "Ram Singh!" The girl spoke sharply. "Have you bound the white man's hands?" The Sikh grunted non-committally. She pointed at Gray. "Undo his hands. Is a white man to be tied like a horse-stealing Kirghiz?" Reluctantly, Ram Singh obeyed, and stood near vigilantly. Gray felt in his pocket with stiffened fingers and produced his passport. This the girl scanned curiously. "I want to apologize," ventured Gray, "for Mirai Khan's attempt on your horses. He was acting contrary to orders. But I take the blame for what he did." He spoke formally, even stiffly. The woman in the chair glanced at him swiftly, studying him from under level brows. He felt a great wish that he should be absolved from the stigma of guilt before her. And, man-like, he pinned his trust in formal explanation. She seemed not to heed his words. She returned his papers, biting her lip thoughtfully. He would have given much to know what she was thinking about, but the girl's bright face was unreadable.