“Do as I have directed and you shall learn for yourselves,” said the one who had invented the tactics.  “I tell you that what you see is all shell.  Now then—­”

Four conspirators advanced in a half-careless and sauntering manner to where Kalora and the consul’s wife sat by the sheltering tree, intent upon their exchange of secrets.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Plumston, but the acrobats are about to begin,” said one of the young men, touching the fez with his forefinger.

“Oh, really?” she exclaimed, looking up.  “We must see them.”

“You must face the other way,” said the young man.  “They are at the east end of the garden.  Permit us.”

Whereupon the young man who had spoken and a companion who stood at his side very gently picked up Mrs. Plumston’s big basket-chair between them and carried it around to the other side of the tree.  And the two young men who had been waiting just behind picked up Kalora’s chair and carried her to the other side of the tree, and put her down beside the consul’s wife.

Did they carry her?  No, they dandled her.  She was as light as a feather for these two young giants of the military.  They made a palpable show of the ridiculous ease with which they could lift their burden.  It may have been a forward thing to do, but they had done it with courtly politeness, and the consul’s wife, instead of being annoyed, was pleased and smiling over the very pretty little attention, for she could not know at the moment that the whole maneuver had grown out of a wager and was part of a detestable plan to find out the actual weight of the Governor-General’s elder daughter.

If Mrs. Plumston did not understand, Count Selim Malagaski understood.  So did all the young men who were watching the pantomime.  And Kalora understood.  She looked up and saw the lurking smiles on the faces of the two gallants who were carrying her, and later the tittering became louder and some of the young men laughed aloud.

She leaped from her chair and turned upon her two tormentors.

“How dare you?” she exclaimed.  “You are making sport of me in the presence of my father’s guests!  You have a contempt for me because I am ugly.  You mock at me in private because you hear that I am thin.  You wish to learn the truth about me.  Well, I will tell you.  I am thin.  I weigh one hundred and eighteen pounds.”

She was speaking loudly and defiantly, and all the young men were backing away, dismayed at the outbreak.  Her father elbowed his way among them, white with terror, and attempted to pacify her.

“Be still, my child!” he commanded.  “You don’t know what you are saying!”

“Yes, I do know what I am saying!” she persisted, her voice rising shrilly.  “Do they wish to know about me?  Must they know the truth?  Then look! Look!”

With sweeping outward gestures she threw off the soft quilted robes gathered about her, tore away the veil and stood before them in a white gown that fairly revealed every modified in-and-out of her figure.