She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. There was going to be no quarter between these two. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. ” “Then I am sure,” Sir John declared, “that I shall not ask you. —There, Mr.
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