On my entrance something small and pink moved behind a wire screen in the corner of the room, and Mrs. Yet clipclapped across the floor in her Chinese sandals, and picked up a little bundle of Chinese life, saying:
"This my baby. He eighteen month. He sick—get tooth—got one tooth."
We talked about the baby, she sometimes speaking in Chinese, and sometimes in broken English, until we felt acquainted. Then I said:
"Mrs. Yet, I see by the newspaper that you will have to appear in court to give evidence in behalf of your husband. You do not want to go there in Chinese dress to be the subject of curiosity, and newspaper remark?"
The trouble which had left her face while she was talking about the baby, reappeared, and tears gathered in her almond eyes.
It was more than I could stand, and I cried, "Don't! Don't! Mrs. Yet—I have come to make things all right—I, your country-woman—speaking your own language. I am going to give myself the pleasure of dressing you like an American woman."
She remonstrated politely but I urged so strongly that at last she yielded; and it seemed when she did so as if a great burden had rolled from off her pale little face.
Immediately I went out to one of the great stores and ordered several costumes for her to "fit on"—I wasn't a child any longer. Grandmother's rich old skirt and shawl carried weight a second time (they could not see my face distinctly through the veil), for without hesitation a woman was despatched with the costumes.