To have been found wanting the first night out!
"Come in," said a voice in answer to his knock.
[Illustration: "Come in," said a voice.]
He set the tray down on the stool, his heart insurgent and his fingers
all thumbs. He might live to be a steward eighty years old, but he
never would get over the awe, the embarrassment of these invasions by
night. Each time he saw a woman in her peignoir or kimono he felt as
though he had committed a sacrilege. True, he understood their
attitude; he was merely a serving machine and for the time wiped off
the roster of mankind.
A long blue coat of silk brocade enveloped Kitty from her throat to her
sandals; sleeves which fell over her hands; buttoned by loops over
corded knots. An experienced traveler could have told him that it was
the peculiar garment which any self-respecting Chinaman would wear who
was in mourning for his grandfather. Kitty wore it because of its
beauty alone.
"Thank you," she said, as Thomas went out backward, court style. Kitty
smiled across at her maid who was arranging the combs and brushes
preparatory to taking down her mistress' hair.
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