The politicians who were likely to be present she knew.
What was there left?
An explorer, perhaps, or a colonial.

Her curiosity became imperious.
"You have not told me your name," she reminded him.
"My name is Maraton," he replied, a little grimly.
"You--Maraton!" There was a brief silence--not without a certain dramatic significance to the girl who stood there with slightly parted lips.

The smooth serenity of her forehead was broken by a frown; her beautiful blue eyes were troubled.

She seemed somehow to have dilated, to have drawn herself up.

Her air of politeness, half gracious, half condescending, had vanished.