‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. For she needed him. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would esteem speech with her a great point gained. But ——” A look checked him. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. Danger, the most terrible she had ever faced, was substantially in this room. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone.
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