things close; equally so if she was receiving guests.

A flare of light from a window opposite fell across the face of the
dancing man, who pointed at Mhtoon Pah, and appeared to make him offer
his principal for sale, or introduce him to the street with an
indicating finger. The gloom grew, calling out the lights into strength,
but the concourse did not thin: it only gathered in numbers, and the
long, moaning hoot of an out-going tramp filled the air as though with a
wail of sorrow at departure. Lascars in coal-begrimed tunics joined in
with the rest, adding their voices to the babel, and round-hatted
sailors from the Royal Indian Marine ships mingled with them.

All up and down the Mangadone River lights came out. Clear lights along
the land, and wavering torch-lights in the water. Ships' port-holes
cleared themselves in the darkness, ships' lights gleamed green and red
in high stars up in the crows'-nests, or at the shapeless bulk of dark
bows, and white sheets of strong electric clearness lay over one or two
landing-stages where craft was moored alongside and overtime work still
continued. Little sampans glided in and out like whispers, and small
boats with crossed oars, rowed by one man, ferried to and fro, but it
was late, and, gradually, all commercial traffic ceased.

It was quite late now, an hour when European life had withdrawn to the
Cantonment. It was not an hour for Sahibs on foot to be about, and yet
it seemed that there was one who found the night air of July 29th hot
and close, and desired to go towards the river for the sake of the
breeze and the fresh air. He, too, like all the others, passed along
Paradise Street, passing quickly, as the others had passed, his head
bent and his eyes averted from the faces that looked up at him from easy
chairs, from crowded doorsteps, or that leaned over balconies. He, also,