This peculiar atmosphere had always preceded the
break-up of every home which they had shared. She divined the
fact that in some way Huang Chow had outstayed his welcome in
Chinatown, London. Where their next resting-place would be she
could not imagine, but she prayed that it might be in some more
sunny clime.
She found herself to be thinking over much of John Hampden. His
bona fides were not above suspicion, but she could scarcely
expect to meet a really white man in such an environment.
Lala would have liked to think that he was white, but could not
force herself to do so. She would have liked to think that he
sought her company because she appealed to him personally; but
she had detected the fact that another motive underlay his
attentions. She wondered if he could be another of those moths
drawn by the light of that fabled wealth of her father.
It was curious, she reflected, that Huang Chow never checked--
indeed, openly countenanced--her friendship with the many chance
acquaintances she had made, even when her own instincts told her
that the men were crooked; so that, knowing the acumen of her
father, she was well aware that he must know it too.
Several of these pseudo lovers of hers had died.
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