For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. “I didn’t think you’d come. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. I was grounded for the last two weeks.
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