Attempts were made upon the door of the Lodge; but it was too strong to be forced. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Things happened frequently over here that wouldn't happen in the States once in a hundred years. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club.
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