“Yes, all four of us—we are just the four—and I think my son will be glad to get home again, after a year in the East.”
“I doubt that not,” the girl replied, in an odd, quiet voice. “But,” she added, reaching up one ring-heavy hand to pull down a flower, only to pitch it aside when she had smelt it once—the Chinese rarely do that—“but he said he liked the East.”
“Oh! yes, indeed he does. We all do. Who could help it? But, after all, it is not quite the same thing as home, you know, especially to a man; and, besides, Basil has many friends whom he longs to see again. And”—adding this good-naturedly, anxious to interest the girl and smiling significantly—“we don’t want an old bachelor in our family, you know; we have but the one son.”
“‘Bachelor’—that is one English word I do not know.”
“Well, what I mean is that Basil must return home before all the eligible young ladies of his acquaintance forget him.”
“That means”—the girl’s voice hurt her throat—“he is going home to marry?”
“Well,” his mother admitted, “there is a young lady at home, I believe, who will be very glad to see him again, so I hope it will eventually come to that.”
Nang Ping laughed. And Mrs. Gregory thought, “How very oddly the Chinese laugh! It’s anything but gay.”
“And he will never come back?”—the strange creature said it with a smile.
“Oh, yes!” Hilda said, joining them, “some day, perhaps, when he has settled down, to take charge of this branch.”