she was again fairly launched in it, she paused to wonder at the presence
of the dreadful Dunsack man on their lawn. His hollow yellow cheeks and
staring brown eyes which somehow made her think of pain, his restless
hands and speech, all repelled her violently. Taou--Taou Yuen hadn't
liked him either: when, after the longest time, he had gone, she replied
to a short comment from her, Sidsall's, father:

"Rotten wood cannot be carved."

Some one else had mentioned opium. She had intended to ask more
particularly about this, but it slipped from her mind. She remembered
that her grandfather made one of his familiar exclamations peppered with
an appalling word. He was really very embarrassing, and she was glad that
Roger Brevard had left. It was a bad example for Laurel, too, who copied
him, and only that morning said "My God" to Miss Gomes. Her mind swung
back to the consideration of the Manchu: The latter was the fact upon
which Camilla was so insistent, that in this case a Manchu was a noble,
almost a princess. Camilla suffered dreadfully from the endless questions
put to her outside their house about Uncle Gerrit's wife. She had more
than once wept at the public blot laid on them. Laurel was frankly
inquisitive and Janet as puzzling as usual.

The clothes of course were enchanting, the richness of the materials and
hand embroidery marvellous; her jewelry was never ending. It didn't seem
quite like clothing, in the sense of her own tarlatan and crinoline, her
waist which Hodie wouldn't properly lace and tulle draping; there was a
certain resemblance to the dressing in Van Amburgh's circus; but--in
spite of Camilla's private laments--every inch of it was distinguished.
The layers of paint upset them, but Uncle Gerrit had explained, a little
impatiently, that it was a Manchu custom, adding that the world couldn't