He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink. The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. Give me your hand. "What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. ‘Bête. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. It would send business elsewhere; and the hotel business in Canton was never so prosperous that one could afford to lose a single guest.
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