This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled.
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