Pritchard said what year, and added, "Why do you ask?"
Arthur had not meant to ask. He began a long blush, seeing which Gay turned swift heels and escaped upon a suddenly ejaculated pretext.
"Why," said Arthur lamely, "I knew some people who were in Peking that winter—that's all."
"Then," said Pritchard, "we have mutual friends. I knew every foreigner in Peking. There weren't many."
Although Arthur had gotten the better of his blush, he felt that Pritchard was eying him rather narrowly.
"They," said Arthur, "were a Mr. and Mrs. Waring."
"I hope," said Pritchard, "that he wasn't a friend of yours."
"He was not," said Arthur, "but she was. I was very fond of her."
"Nobody," said Pritchard, "could help being fond of her. But Waring was an old brute. One hated him. He wouldn't let her call her soul her own. He was always snubbing her. We used to call her the 'girl with the dry eyes.'"