Let it have him! They clamored to have the Mahatma driven forth! King turned and faced Yasmini again at last, and their eyes met down the length of that long carpet.

He smiled, and she laughed back at him.
"Nevertheless," said the Mahatma, laying a hand on King's shoulder, and reaching for me with his other hand, "she is no more to be trusted than the lull of the typhoon.

Come with me." And with an arm about each of us he started to lead the way out through the maze of corridors and halls.
He was right.

She was not to be trusted.

She had laughed at King, but the laugh hid desperation, and before we reached the door of the audience hall at least a score of women pounced on King and me to drag us away from the Mahatma and make us prisoners again.