’ He held out his hand to help the girl descend. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. This man’s name is Montague Hill. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Let her see what she could make here. What CAN she put before that?” His voice began to rise. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly.
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