She continued to fan herself. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. To-morrow, when she returned to Hong-Kong, she would purchase a simple but modern dress. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?” “Anna, I swear it!” her sister sobbed. She led him up the long hall solemnly.
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