" Sir Rowland bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them. I waited for her at the back. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. " "I see.
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