The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. But she was not there.
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