"Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. You left Hong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Canton the next morning. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. It is not the woman who speaks there. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow.
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