Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night. And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. Waving a white flag, naturally. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment.
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