“To make you a habit.”
“A habit—what sort of habit?” Did she need more Chinese clothes, she thought rebelliously. Did they think she was going to stay here forever? Lo had promised to take her home. Didn’t they know that? Ruben was in England! Didn’t they care?
“A riding-habit,” King-lo told her.
“A Chinese riding-habit! I didn’t suppose there were any. Why must I wear it? When must I wear it?”
“No,” Sên said gently, “there are no Chinese riding-habits. An English riding-habit.”
“He couldn’t make one,” Mrs. Sên retorted with an unappreciative glance at the motionless tailor.
“He can make most things,” Sên laughed.
“Has he ever seen an English habit?” his wife demanded. She was not in the least convinced.
“Surely not,” King-lo owned, “nor any other sort of riding-habit, nor even any sort of a picture of one, I dare swear. But he’s a genius.”
“He doesn’t look it,” Mrs. Sên remarked crisply.