CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. " "They know what?" "When and when not to speak. Wood. All the turnkeys were assembled. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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