"By all means," rejoined Quilt. “I gave your name. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. “I have scarcely left his side. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be lost. ” Anna was thoughtful. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. Aren’t I asking—asking plainly now?. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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