"There was a girl, a beautiful girl——"
"There usually is," MacLaurin sighed.
Peter gazed bitterly at the scenery flitting evenly past the window: groves of feathery bamboo, flaming mustard fields, exquisite gardens, and graves—graves beyond count.
"Perhaps she is passing through the Inland Sea by now. Bobbie, I wanted her to go home. She was—she was that kind of a girl. She wanted to stay. Bobbie, that girl could have made a man of me! She—she even told me she—liked me!"
"They have a way of doing that," commented Bobbie sadly.
Several miles rolled by before either of the men spoke.
"Why is Miss Vost making the trip to Ching-Fu?"
"You'll have to find that out, Peter. I was too busy letting her know how bright my life has become since she entered it!"
The square, red jaw swung savagely toward Peter. Of a sudden the sea-blue eyes seemed a trifle inflamed. "She's probably going to Ching-Fu on serious business. She's like that. She's not like you!"
"What do you mean?" said Peter.