Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. ” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Ownership seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a daughter’s upbringing.
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