’ Gerald grinned. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Wait a little; rest. There never is much left for me. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours.
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