"You're like an old night-watchman!"
"I'm not a bit like an old night-watchman."
"Yes, yes," he insisted. "Weren't you told as a child how they used to go crying the hour under the windows in Baltimore, 'Eleven o'clock, and all's well!' 'Midnight, and all's well'?"
"Very nice of them, I'm sure; and if the family watchman says 'All's well' after luncheon, you are to take me to China."
It was so she always spoke of Chinatown. He thought of the narrow, malodorous alleys, the stifling shops, and regretted, with a double pang, the breezy bay and Yaffti. However, he would have a couple of hours' sail before luncheon to sustain him.
"All right," he said out loud, "we'll go to China this afternoon."
As she leaned against him he put his arm about her waist.
"Where's your turquoise gewgaw?" he said.
"Here"—she lifted a hand to her hair.
"No; I meant the other—the—" As he noticed the shade on her face: "You've lost it! Aha! I knew you would if you wore it every day."