“I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. She refrained.
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