“Good girl! You’ve guessed it first go. My mother and Hilda are coming to-morrow to make the acquaintance of pretty Miss Wu and to see her very honorable garden.”
“Your mother and your sister,” the girl said under her breath softly. “Ah!”
“They were no end pleased to come, especially the mater. She’d come quick enough anywhere I told her to. We’ve been the greatest chums always, the mater and I. Hilda pals with the governor, but she’s no end keen on China, the motherkin—goes into all sorts of smelly dives and dens after blue plates and shaky ivory balls, and—and all that sort of thing, you know; reads the rummiest books, knows all about spotted dragons and crinkly gods. She bought one yesterday, a rum, fat fellow made out of some sort of crockery stuff; he sits squatted on the floor this minute in her own room, and if you pat him on his noddle the old chap nods it, and goes on nodding it, too, for a blessed hour by the clock”—Nang Ping understood less than half of this truly British ramble, and listened to it with a puzzled smile—“and she is no end keen to come, to see how things are done in real China. I wouldn’t wonder if she wrote an article for one of the picture papers at home—‘The Chinese at Home,’ or some such stuff. I say, you’ll be sure to give her tea Chinese fashion. No borrowed European tricks, you know; just pucka Chinaman way!”
Nang Ping understood the drift, if not quite all his words. “It shall be as you wish: Chinese reception, Chinese delicacies, offered Chinese way.”
“That will be ripping then.”
“How strange it will be to talk with thy honorable mother!” the girl said wistfully. “And thy sister! Is she like me, or more beautiful?” she asked most seriously. And that he might judge his answer the more nicely and adjust his answer to exact truth, she went from him a few paces, opened her fan wide, spread out her arms, and stood very still, a pathetic figure of Chinese girlhood on view, waiting, anxious but meek, an Englishman’s verdict. And then, remembering that the light was somewhat dim, she came a little nearer, but not too close, and repeated her grave question, “Is thy honorable sister like Nang Ping, or even more beautiful?”
Basil laughed with kindly patronage. “Hilda?” Strolling to the wide stone bench he threw his hat on to it and sat down. “All nice girls are like each other, Nang Ping. Hilda’s so-so. But Tom Carruthers thinks she’s ‘top-side’ nice. Carruthers, the governor’s secretary, and I rather think he’s going to be my honorable brother-in-law. The governor won’t object. Tom’s right enough, and old Carruthers got any amount of tin. The Right Reverend John B. thinks Sis nice too, or I’m greatly mistaken. It’s a queer freak for a parson, for Hilda isn’t exactly churchified, but Bradley finds her nice all right.”
“And my lord finds me nice?”
The gray eyes narrowed. “Very nice,” the man answered, and held out his arms.
She went at once and sat down on the other end of the bench. Gregory bent and kissed her, and presently she kissed him in return. And the sudden darkness thickened, creeping closer, for there is no true gloaming, no lingering dusk, in the Orient. It is day there, or else it is night.