In its earlier stages, the dinner seemed a trifle strained, despite the urbane chatter of the host. Charlie alone knew why he was there; the others seemed inclined to silent speculation. Evidently Ward was not yet ready to enlighten them. As Ah Sing moved along with the main course, Charlie said a few words to him in Cantonese, and got a brief answer in the same dialect.
“Pardon, please,” Chan bowed to his host. “I take the liberty of asking Ah Sing his age. His reply is not altogether clear.”
Ward smiled. “I don’t suppose the old boy really knows. In the late seventies, I fancy—a long life, and most of it spent in our service. I know it’s not the thing to talk about one’s servants—but Ah Sing years ago passed out of that category. He’s been one of the family for as long as I can remembe
