There were plenty of Russian faces, but the girl Bates meant sat by herself at a table near them, getting up every now and then to dance with whoever asked her. The men who came over to her from other tables were in general as self-conscious as though they had been asked to go up on the stage and help a conjurer, but the girl was somber and half asleep with exhaustion. She was overly buxom, dressed in a too thin, soiled, flowered chiffon dress. Her hands were dirty, but her eyebrows met in an exquisite scimitar arch over black eyes like those in Persian miniatures. Her head was beautiful in a way that was almost an affront, cruel and Semitic. Bates did not really admire her, he was accustomed to prettiness groomed and moderated; she was beauty in the raw. Still she disturbed him and he went on looking at her. Megan's mind flashed back momentarily to the Chinese woman she had seen in the car with the chenille fringes, the car that had stopped at the scene of the motor wreck. She remembered against the Russian woman's look of submerged revolt the Chinese woman's air of modesty and complete acceptance of living. "That girl is too fat but she has got a good nose," Bates continued. "That is what is the matter with these Chinese women. No noses." "They have rather Egyptian noses, haven't they? And they are rather alike, come to think of it, both agriculturalists for thousands of years and peace-loving. I suppose it is natural for an agriculturalist to be peace-loving. But can there be any connection, do you suppose, between agriculture and noses?" "Well, I'm not prepared to say. Let's dance. You wouldn't think," he said as they worked through the crush, "that this city is going to be captured in a few days, would you?" "But is it? And will it make a great difference?" "Bound to be. And it will make plenty of difference to the Chinks. Don't you worry though. We're looking after the Concessions. You can give us credit for that, noses or no noses." The evening stretched in front of her like a tunnel. The continuous blare of sound, the smoke, and across from her the fatigue and scorn of the Russian woman, who never ceased to dance with whoever asked her and to say at intervals, "One small bottle wine, please,"--these things became insupportable. Feeling that it must be nearly morning she stole a glance at her wrist-watch and found it was only quarter past twelve. "I must go now. The Jacksons will worry if I am out late." "Good girl. Must get good girls home early. Boy, bring chit." But he had time to consume another whisky soda. He was becoming agreeably boisterous, he laughed at everything she said. "Perhaps after all I'll have a chance to sack a city. Can you see me doing it? Can you see me tearing jade earrings off the shrieking women? Can you?"