Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. Jonathan shook his head. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. The girl nodded sagely. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance.
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