“Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. All the linen was new and stamped with the mark of Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co. She waited expectantly. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. "They tell me over here that the average Chinaman is honest. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly.
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