“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. All your faults are just jolly modelling to make you real and solid. Don't you see they're putting on their cloaks?" "That's false!" rejoined Marvel, in a low tone; "I perceive what has taken place.
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