“You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest.
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