’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. The word of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash.
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