7
HE LOOKED about half Chinese to Mr. Bunn— and he might as well have been that as anything else. Certainly he was neither American nor English. He was a man of middle height— and of light weight, Mr. Bunn noted not unenviously. He sat his horse like a man who had been bred on horseback. And he was handsome— Mr. Bunn looked again and thought again— yes, he was either diabolically handsome or awe-inspiringly ugly. His smile, over white, perfect teeth and on thin, well-cut lips, was attractive, and his manners were quite perfect. He was a man that a woman— or, for that matter, a man— must either like very much indeed— or hate very bitterly at first sight. It was Col. Carnac who introduced them— rather perfunctorily.
"Mr. Flood— Mr. Yung Foon!"
"Mr. Black— Mr. Yung Foon!"
Mr. Bunn pinched
