For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. I was grateful. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. .
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