She drew a long breath. But his daughter might well have a claim. Farewell. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. " "It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here," said the Scot, ruefully. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. ” She shook her head.
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