“Transplant my English flowers to the wilds of China!” Sên laughed.
“Ruben is only half-English,” she reminded him, “and I am your wife.”
“Ruben looks rather more English than you do,” he retorted.
“That’s no answer, Lo. Listen—” she put her hands on his shoulders and held them there. “I have been very happy here. It has been splendid. I’ve loved the fun of London and all the interest. But the one thing I care for is to be with you and the boy. Truly, Lo. I meant every word I said to you the other morning: every bit of me did. I don’t care where we live. On my soul, I don’t. Let us live in China—most of your business is there. Take me to your own home, Lo, and make me a Chinese woman.”
He took her face in his hands. It was the only answer he made her.
“Wouldn’t you like to stay in China?” she persisted. “We could come here for nice long visits sometimes. Shall we?”
Sên King-lo laughed oddly. “We’ll try a trial trip first,” was all he said.
It was left at that.
Baby Ruben was taken to Kent, the old room Ivy Gilbert’s mother had been born in made his day nursery, with Jack and Jill, Little Bo Peep and all her sheep, the Cow with the crumpled horn and the Old Woman who lived in a shoe and found it crowded, newly papered on the walls. Old Father Thames, in very bright blue, meandered tranquilly beside them, with golden stars for Oxford and Maple Durham, for Windsor and Eton, and one very big star with two extra points for London town. Sên King-lo and Ruby his wife crossed the world together.