For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. “Do you see what I was talking about, Strings?” No one is going to want to hear a note from you until you have tone like.
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