“May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. —There, Mr. He remained listening attentively. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. “What a little brick!” he murmured. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out.
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