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of women

at all, it

had been

tentative,

intermittent,

and

somewhat

inconclusive.

But he was

not, after

all that,

a cynic

about

them. He

said with

a laugh:

“I’m

thirty-seven

– you’re

twenty-four.

That’s all

it amounts

to.” After

a pause

Mallinson

asked

suddenly:

“Oh, by

the way,

how old

should you

say Chang

is?”

“Anything,”

replied

Conway

lightly,

“between

forty-nine

and a

hundred

and

forty-nine.”

Such

information,

however,

was less

trustworthy

than much

else that