‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. Very soon she would be able to forget it. By this action, Lucy already knew what the answer was. He took up his hat and went. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. She reflected before answering. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. "Ruth?" he called.
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