He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. In Europe or in America people would have smiled; but in Singapore—the half-way port of the world—where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east and west, no one had remarked her. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. His efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. ’ ‘Don’t count on it. I might as well be at Morningside Park. ’ The smile vanished. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly.
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