Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. He had been baptized there. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life. How came you to know it? Have you heard the name before?" "I think I have—long, long ago, when I was a child," replied Mrs. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing.
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