There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. She wanted to think. Get on, do. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. On the contrary, his glass was never idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired, he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered remonstrances of Mr. ’ ‘You may arrest me later.
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