“When she got ready——”
It was a long time before a soft patter was heard in an adjoining room whence came low, amused laughter; then a light flutter of garments, and the tea-farmer’s daughter entered. Casting a hasty glance at the mandarin she turned her back on him with a haughty but almost imperceptible toss of her head.
For some moments the mandarin looked at her in astonishment, yet with intense satisfaction.
“Maid.”
“Man.”
The mandarin started, his eyes opened to the utmost of their narrow width and he glared at the old man shivering in his chair.
“Did I not hear you singing this morning?” he demanded severely.
“Your knowledge should be greater than mine,” she replied coldly.
“Were you singing?”
“I am always singing.”