He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “It’s a great deal for a young lady who’s alone in the world, as I suppose you are at present, to have a respectable home, and I do not think in such a case that private apartments are at all desirable. They were both dressed in every respect alike. Out of all this we have struck a sort of harmony. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Still silence everywhere. He removed his cocked hat and came towards her.
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