They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. . Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. ’ ‘Yes, that is what he said,’ agreed Melusine, pleased to find him of so ready an understanding.
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