The Englishwoman hesitated miserably. She was thoroughly alarmed now. “But,” she begged (for it was supplication—open, not implied), “Mr. Wu, I—I hope that I shall myself be going soon.”
Wu took no notice of what she said, and, for the time no further notice of Florence Gregory. He clapped his hands sharply, and at their sound Ah Sing stood in the doorway.
“Analiaotang,” the mandarin said quietly. The frightened Englishwoman understood no Chinese. But Wu’s tone—quiet as it was—said unmistakably, “Take her away.”
Ah Sing moved quietly on Ah Wong, and she, looking pathetically at her mistress, backed as slowly as she dared through the open door, from the room. But at the threshold she paused, glanced for an instant up at the high window, looked her mistress squarely in the eyes, bowed her head and was gone.
And Mrs. Gregory had returned her amah’s signal, look for look.
It was two women against one man; and one of those women was Chinese.
CHAPTER XXXV
The Story of the Sword
“YOU—you shouldn’t have done that,” Mrs. Gregory faltered as the door closed again behind Ah Sing. “She is very devoted to me,” she added feebly.
“No doubt,” the mandarin answered tersely. “But I fancy my authority is even more powerful than her devotion.”