in just after Ah Wong, and who sat, with his face to the wall, writing in the farthest corner, began to drive a noiseless pen, without looking round.
But the clock struck three, and after a startled glance thrown up at it, Mr. Gregory said softly, "Florence."
"Yes?" his wife answered drearily, without moving; she did not even open her eyes.
The husband sighed remorsefully. "Dear, I'm afraid you'll have to go."
"Why?" she asked indifferently, as if the answer could not interest her, and still without moving her head or opening her eyes.
"Well, you see, I've made an appointment here at three—and it may, it just may, prove important, with—with a man."
"Who?" Her voice was still devoid of interest.
"I expect Mr. Wu here."
Before her husband had spoken the last word Mrs. Gregory was bolt upright in her chair, wide-eyed, alert—as if galvanized, revitalized, tense and acute.
"Mr. Wu?" she whispered eagerly.
"Yes," he told her.
And the amah fingered softly something hidden in her gown.
"About Basil!"
"About a lot of things," Gregory said grimly. "And Basil in particular."
"Oh! and he can help us! You think so, don't you, Robert?"
"He can help us all right, Mrs. Gregory," William Holman said sternly, "if he will."
"Oh! he must. He shall!" she said hoarsely
"At any rate, he's coming. And that's more than I thought," Holman said, as a new degree and quality of
