‘I thank you. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack.
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