"Gwendolin, dear," interrupted grandmother, "do not speak so."
"Those Chinese silks, of which she seems to have gowns galore—I was at the unpacking of her trunks—must be tabooed," said my aunt. "Her father has evidently intended her to dress like an European or American; she has some waist line, and does not wear the sacque the women wear in China; but her sleeves are years old."
"The dear child may object to having her attire changed at once," said my grandmother. "She is used to those soft clinging silks, and may not want to give them up. And sleeves are of little consequence. Let her alone for awhile."
"Let her alone!" again retorted Aunt Gwendolin, "and let Professor Ballington see her? He'd know her nationality at once in that yellow silk covered with sprawling dragons, as almost anybody might. I cannot have anything so mortifying occur when the girl is calling me 'aunt'!"
"Ballington is a curious kind of a chap, and values people on their own merits; he'd think none the less of the girl because she has some Chinese blood in her," returned Uncle Theodore.
"I'll take her out to-morrow," continued my aunt, "and buy her some taffeta silks and French muslins, and dress her up as a Christian should be dressed."
Grandmother said no more. The mother is not the head of the house in America as she is in dear old China. I suppose it is the daughter who rules in this country.
I am so sleepy I cannot listen any longer, even to talk about myself. My governess has taught me that eavesdropping is not honourable, but I cannot avoid hearing so long as I stay in my room, and I have nowhere else to go. I will turn out the electric light, throw myself on the bed, yellow silk and all, and cry myself asleep. I wonder is that an American or a Chinese act? My governess was continually tracing my actions to one or other of the nations.