A modest drinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over in Kowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five in the morning. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. “He wants to settle something on you, I believe.
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