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Stonily he had disengaged himself. Stanley took mustard savagely. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you.
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