He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. He was a comforting, humorous old ruffian; but there were few men in the Orient more deeply read in psychology and physiognomy. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. But they did what they could for her. And then they disgorged. He brightened as she took off her hood.
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