‘The lady in question is going to seek a divorce,’ said Collis. He took a melon seed from the small porcelain dish in front of him, split it with his teeth the way Wang-Pu had taught him, and ate the kernel.

Mr Kwang lit a match and sucked gently at the long stem of his pipe. ‘Divorce is not always the most honourable way, is it? And to marry a lady who is divorced, well, that is not always good for face, is it?’

‘Face?’

‘You understand, Mr Edmonds. You were a friend of Wang-Pu’s.’

Collis felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure what you want me to do, Mr Kwang.’

‘Do?’ asked Mr Kwang, his face as smooth as a blanched almond. ‘I don’t want you to do anything. That is the whole point of what I have been telling you. Be tranquil, do nothing, and your obstacle will disappear.’

On Friday, Collis and Hannah ate lunch at the California Market, at Darbee & Immel’s, a huge mound of shellfish, a small rump steak each, and a pot of hot coffee. Collis had spent most of the morning with Andy Hunt, arguing about the railroad, and he was going to talk in the afternoon to Horace Johnson, one of the directors of Pacific Mail, in an attempt to soften up the steamship line’s adamant opposition to transcontinental trains. Johnson had once said in public that California’s economy and security depended almost entirely on her isolation, and that to build a railroad link with the East would destroy ‘at a stroke’ her political integrity and her financial strength.

Johnson had failed to add, of course, that a railroad link would also destroy the hugely profitable monopolies of the stage-line owners and the steamship companies.

Hannah ate very little lunch, and looked pale. It was plain to Collis that the strain of staying in San Francisco, only a few blocks away from Walter, was beginning to take its toll. He was sure that she loved him far more than Walter, if love was what it was; and that she was still prepared to ask Walter for a divorce. But the effervescence of their first night together had been flattened by days of waiting alone in her room at the International, of watching the afternoon light sink gradually across the floral wallpaper to the floor. She was beginning to doubt herself again, to worry that her infatuation might not be worth the loss of her respectability, her cosy marriage, and her peace of mind with God.

Collis realised that she was faltering. Her lovemaking on Thursday night had been distant, distracted. He knew that if he didn’t take quick, positive steps to re-establish her social position, he could well lose her.

He said, over the coffee, ‘When I’ve spoken to Horace Johnson, I’ll go down to the store and see Walter.’

She looked up, her eyes widening. ‘Do you mean that?’