I know life. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. Whatever she does is minimized. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. I am gambling on his intuition.
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