It was oratorical all right: there could be no doubt as to that, but there was no effort, no shaming after effect, no labour of delivery. He was neither self-conscious nor ponderously pleasant, but the periods marched forth in an ordered stream of words, punctuated in the process, so it seemed, by some invisible grammarian. She flashed a dazzling smile at him which was partly thanks for her relief, partly amusement at his speech. The smile died as suddenly because of her amusement and her fear that he would realise why she smiled. (As to that she need not have worried, for Ted Talham had no fear of appearing ridiculous.) “Perhaps you would allow me to see you safely from this place,” he said courteously. “Civilisation has its dangers--dangers as multitudinous and as primitive as the wilds may hold for the innocent and the beautiful.” She flushed a little, but he was so obviously sincere, and so free from pretension, that she could not be offended. “They have been following me for days,” she replied. “At first I thought it was a coincidence, but now I see that there was no reason for their dogging my movements.” He nodded, and they walked on in silence for a while, then: “Are you associated with China in any way?” he asked suddenly. She smiled and shook her head. “I have never been to China,” she said, “and know very little about the country.” Again a silence. “You have friends associated with China?” he persisted, and saw a little frown of annoyance gather on her forehead. “My mother--that is to say, my stepmother has,” she said shortly. He curled his moustache thoughtfully. She noted with an odd feeling in which pleasure and annoyance were mixed, that he was very much “the old friend of the family.” It was not exactly what he said, or the tone he adopted. It was an indefinable something which was neither patronage nor familiarity. It was Talham’s way, as she was to discover, to come with pleasant violence into lives and be no more and no less in place than they who had won their positions in esteem and confidence through arduous years of service. “Perhaps your mother’s friends have given you something Chinese which these men want?” he suggested, and again saw the frown. Somehow he knew that it did not indicate hostility to, or annoyance with, himself. “I have a bangle,” she said; “but I do not wear it.” She stopped, opened a silver bag she carried on her wrist, and took out a small jade bracelet. It was set about at intervals by tiny bands of gold. “May I see it?” She passed it to him. They were nearing Marble Arch, and she had insensibly slackened her pace. Now they both stopped whilst he examined the ornament. He scrutinised it carefully. Between each band was an inscription, half obliterated by wear. “This bangle is two thousand years old,” he said simply, and she gasped. “Two thousand!” she repeated incredulously. “Two thousand,” he repeated. “This is quite valuable.” “I know,” she said shortly.