The green light filtered through the boughs. It touched the twisted trunks with a still look of mystery and strangeness.
“How beautiful!” she said under her breath.
He made a place for her to sit down, and as she leaned against the gnarled trunk, looking up to the boughs where the filtering light came through, he was struck again by the pallor of her face.
“You are tired!” he exclaimed. “I shall signal Kou Ying to bring the chairs!” He moved to the entrance of the grove—but she stayed him.
“No—wait! I like it—to be alone with you.... Don’t call Kou Ying—yet!”
She looked about with dreamy eyes. “It is so beautiful here—and quiet—I shall rest,” she said slowly.
Then her eyes fell on the box and she smiled.
“Open it!” she commanded.
And as his fingers undid the cord and lifted the thin rustling papers and drew the coat from its place, she laughed and chatted like a child. And her laughter, sounding through the grove, had something sweet and strange in it.
He lifted the coat and laid it before her. She looked down at it. She put out her hand and stroked the dragons, the laughter still in her eyes.