Lucy stood awkwardly patting her hair. She was not pleased to see Edward and Stone. No plain statement could have made this more transparently clear than did her glazed politeness. Edward was seized with a panic of dumbness; he could not utter the name of Emily in this nervous, constricted atmosphere.
“Well, so you’ve found your way here,” said Lucy. “It’s a long way.”
“Yes.”
“I thought your father expected you to wait for him in Peking, Stone.”
“Yump. I guess he did.”
“This is a dreadful house to receive visitors in. Look at the furniture. Tam says it was probably all bought at the ten cent store. Still, there are advantages in living here. We can have dogs here for the first time for years. I do adore dogs. I feel ... perfect, somehow, if there is a dog in the room. Sometimes I’m shocked to think how long I spend looking at the way a dog’s hair grows on his face ... or looking at him crossing his paws in that patient way. I just look and look.”
There was a dog on the hearth, a handsome Eurasian dog. Edward crossed the room and looked blankly down on its golden forehead. One was glad when one could like anything that Lucy liked, or in any way flatter her. He noticed that she shrank as he came near her as though she thought he might kiss her or insult her.
“These Chinese,” went on Lucy, “are such a weird unreasonable race. I suppose one will get used to their funny ways in time. But this fighting is dreadful.”
“Yes.”