She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. His smile faded. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. The audience clapped more heartily.
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