McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. “I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. He was a just man, and he did not care to start any thunder which was not based upon fairness. You know you do, Annabel. He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him.
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