The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the window. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. "Weigh anchor, Van!" he shouted to the skipper, "and consult your despatches. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. Rhea became alarmed that she was about to leave. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. "Good work. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. "But she is saying something to me! What is it?" The hotel manager, who spoke Cantonese with facility, interpreted.
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