So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. ‘But you will not be in a convent. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. The doctor laughed. The marriage cannot—shall not be delayed. He's passed through some rough mental torture. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow.
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