At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. Because every mistake you make, for every new mishap, Joe, I take a finger.
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