She was the High Priestess. “Did you see who that was?” he asked in a low tone. I’ll have to think of something else. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. They walked in silence. Maggot, bursting into a loud contemptuous laugh. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. To an unthinking mind the episode would be ordinary, trivial; but to the doctor, who had had plenty of time to think during his sojourn in China, it was basic of the child's unhappiness. . She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive.
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