She was afraid she had offended him but was too timid to do more than to take his hand and let him lead her gently down the winding stairs.
At the gate of the temple they found the crowd augmented by several hundred persons, who closed in behind and marched along to the compound.
Mr. and Mrs. Newbegin were waiting on the veranda and the marines had been having a little samshu. The boy was by no means sorry to have the company of his escort for the rest of their walk, and the party made good time to the Dirigo. The bund was alive with spectators and so was the whole long line of shore. There were Chinese everywhere, on the beach, on rafts, in sampans, swimming in the water, all around, wherever you looked there were a dozen yellow faces—waiting—waiting for something. Even in the broil of that inland sun the chills crept up the boy's spine.
The Rev. Theophilus and his wife were much pleased with the gunboat and sat in the cabin in the draught of the two electric fans sipping lemonade, while the boy showed the girl over the Dirigo. He had made one last passionate appeal to the missionary and his wife, who had again flatly refused to leave the city. Margaret had likewise reasserted her determination not to desert them. The boy was in despair and cursed them to himself for stupid, bigoted fools. He was showing the girl his little stateroom with its tiny bookcase and pictures and she had paused fascinated before one which showed a group of young people gathered on a smooth lawn with tennis rackets in their hands. All were smiling or laughing. Margaret could not tear herself away from it.
"How happy they look!" she whispered. "How fresh and clean and cool everything is! What are those things in their hands?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"The round things that look like nets," she explained.
The boy gasped.
"Tennis rackets! Do you mean to say you've never seen a tennis racket?"
"I don't think so." She hesitated. "Perhaps ever so long ago when I was a little girl, but I've forgotten."