There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. "What's that?" demanded McClintock. .
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