Well, it had to happen somewhen. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. “Monsieur admires the poster?” As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity.
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