the world, too. It is the
bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle. But this
chap is good wine yet. We'll have him on his way before many days.
But ... he must want to live in order that the inclination to
repeat this incident may not recur. The manager tells me that you
are an American. So am I. For ten years I've been trying to go
home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. It
drives one mad at times. Superstition--you knock into it whichever
way you turn. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when
my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns
joss-sticks. I hate this part of the world."

"So do I," replied Ruth.

"You have lived over here?"--astonished.

"I was born in the South Seas and I am on my way to America, to an
aunt."

"Well, it's mighty fine of you to break your journey in this
fashion--for someone you don't know, a passer-by."

He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. The
manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had
interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner.
"You will find her new." New? That did not describe her. Here,
indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into
contact--a natural woman. She would be extraordinarily interesting
as a metaphysical study. She would be surrendering to all her
impulses--particularly the good impulses--many of which society had
condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble.
Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience
for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on
his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as
Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the
ingratitude. To such characters, fine actions are in themselves
sufficient.

Perhaps her odd beauty--and that too was natural--stirred these
thoughts into being. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite
the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of
blondes. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver
unnoticeably. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth.
In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a
yellow pearl. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. Not the
explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly
meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly.

All this while he was arranging the medicines on the