She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. "An oath weighs little with me, compared with your safety. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. What he wanted desperately was to be alone.
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