“Yes.”
“Do you know any of his friends?”
“No.”
“Anything of his past?”
Betty hesitated. Then, as the woman glanced keenly up, she replied:
“Only what he has told me.”
“Do you know, even, whether he is a married man?”
Another long silence fell. Betty stood as quietly as before, looking out of frank brown eyes at the sunlit courtyard and the gate house beyond where old Sun Shao-i, seated on a stool, was having the inside of his eyelids scraped by an itinerant barber.
“Yes,” Betty replied.
“You mean—?”