Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. And when, at length, it was struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared. "I shall do no such thing. Here was one that subtly mocked her. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. In a moment he was beside her. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own.
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