It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. Sir John waved her back. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl! For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave of custom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled the idea. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly.
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