This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. 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. The Higher Life and the Lower. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way.
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