“Why not?” He asked. “You seem to have come from Miss Pellissier’s rooms. They shall hear of me no more. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor. Your glove will suffice. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. “Damned Rascal!” he said. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently.
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