Tab did not see Ursula Ardfern for a week. He wrote to her once, for he was a little worried, remembering her fainting fit on her last night at the theatre, but he received a reassuring, indeed a flippant message from Stone Cottage.
“I have come back here and am entrenched against all mysterious Men in Black with an aged but active butler, who has served in the army and is acquainted with the use of lethal weapons. The late roses are out—won’t you come and see them? They are glorious. And Yeh Ling’s Temple of Peace is roofed with shining red tiles, and the villagers are breathing freely again at the prospect of his queer little labourers leaving the neighborhood.
“I drove over there yesterday and found Yeh Ling very sombre and quiet, watching the final touches being put on what looked to be a huge barrel but which I found was the mould in which the second of his great pillars is to be cast. It is the Pillar of Grateful Recollection, or something of the sort, and it is to be dedicated to—me. I feel thrilled. It is hard to believe that all these years Yeh Ling has remembered the trifling services I gave to his son, and isn’t it curious that in all those years, although I have met him many times, for I used to dine regularly at his restaurant (I dined there this week) he has never made one reference to the old days. It is a little eerie, isn’t it?
“I am learning to shoot. Forgive this inconsequence, but my butler (how grand that sounds!) is very insistent, and I practice every day in the meadows behind the house. I had no idea that a revolver was so very heavy or jumped so when you pressed the trigger, and the noise is appalling! I was scared almost to death the first day of the practice, but I am getting quite used to it now and Turner says I shall make a crack shot.
“If you come you will not lack for excitement. Personally I should have preferred that Turner would have given me lessons in archery; it is much more graceful and ladylike. Every time the pistol fires (it is an automatic) it blackens my hands horribly—and it stings!”
Tab read the letter through very many times before he took the Hertford Road. He stopped en route to admire the monument which Yeh Ling had erected to his prosperity. He could admire in all sincerity, for the house presented not only a striking, but a beautiful appearance. Its unusual lines, the quaint setting in which it stood, for the garden had now taken shape, the one lusty pillar that flanked the broad yellow path, made a striking picture.
The workmen had not gone and presently he spied Yeh Ling himself coming down the broad short flight of steps from the upper terrace.
If he did not distinguish him at first, it was excusable, for he wore the blue blouse and baggy trousers of his workmen, but Yeh Ling had seen him and came straight to where he was standing.
“You’ve nearly finished,” said Tab with a smile of greeting. “I congratulate you, Yeh Ling.”
“You think it is pretty,” said Yeh Ling, in his grave, cultured voice. “I have had the best builder I could get from China and I have not stinted him. Some day perhaps you will come and see the interior.”