A silly little rhyme of years ago occurred to him:
Love me close! Love me tight! _But_
Love me when I'm out of sight!
And perhaps because Peter had fallen into one of his reasoning moods, he asked himself whether it was fair to carry the flirtation any further with the girl snuggled beside him. He knew that the hearts of Oriental girls open somewhat more widely to the touch of affection than their Western sisters. And it was not in the nature of women of the East to indulge extensively in the Western form of idle flirtation. The lowering of the eyelids, the flickering of a smile, had meaning and depth in this land.
Was this girl flirting with him, or was hers a deeper interest? That was the question! He took the latter view.
And because he knew, from his own experience, that the hearts of lovers sometimes break at parting, he finally relinquished the cool, small hands and thrust his own deep into his pockets.
There was no good reason, apart from his own selfishness, why he should give a pang of any form to the trustful young heart which fluttered so close at his side.
"Where does your aged grandmother live, small one?" he asked her briskly, in the most unsentimental tones imaginable.
"I have the address here, birahi," she replied, diving into her satin blouse and producing a slip of rice paper upon which was scrawled a number of dead-black symbols of the Chinese written language.
"A rickshaw man can find the place, of course," he said. "Now, look into my eyes, small one, and listen to what I say."
"I listen closely, birahi," said the small one.