" The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. To buy the freedom of a poor little Chinese slave-girl! For what was the sing-song girl but a slave, the double slave of custom and of men? Ruth wanted to know keenly what had impelled the idea. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. I don’t care what else there is in the world. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him. Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol.
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