" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. He remained talking with her however. This is altogether insupportable. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. "It is droll," he said. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. He laughed lightly. "And now, to your own concerns. She passed down the stairs and into the street.
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