She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the literati and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy of Confucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of all philosophy is Nothing. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. His eyes never left her face.
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