“Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. I presume that I may not kiss you in the street?” “Certainly not, sir,” she replied, laughing. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. Now I do. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat.
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