Evidently Ah Cum's luck had held good. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park.
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