But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. To-morrow, when she returned to Hong-Kong, she would purchase a simple but modern dress. You mustn’t do things like that. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. I think you are hard. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. Byby. Sheppard, falling on her knees. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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