"He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. “Yes?” he said. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt.
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