"They have such marvelous entertainment here, don't you think?" asked Mildred Farrow with a timid uncertainty that grated on Ballieu's nerves. Her hair was feathered back, and she wore a white dress that looked rather nice on her. Ballieu smiled and let the back of his hand brush hers as he reached for the snifter of brandy that sat between them. Almost from the beginning his organization had recognized the advantage he offered for blending into settings like this, where money and imperialist tastes went hand in hand. In the first place he was not afraid of being looked at, whereas others panicked. In the second he understood the wisdom of making the little gestures, displaying the charm and playing the games that kept those around him unwary. Most important, of course, was his blondness, and the ease with which he could wear expensive suits. The belligerent, the unkempt, the wild-eyed would be caught at this game. Ballieu had never been caught. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, an act whose name says it all.
