“I was almost asleep,” Lady Snow asserted with a pretty combination of yawn and grumble, as the two men came in. “Come, wake me thoroughly up, Mr. Sên.”
“With pleasure,” he told her.
She made a pretty picture, her husband thought, in her draperies of peacock-blue and apple-green—how much had they cost? he wondered indulgently—and a discreet swarm of about half her second best diamonds—he knew perfectly well what they had cost. And Sên King-lo proceeded to amuse her gaily and devotedly. But she saw his eyes sweep the room.
“Where’s Ivy?” Snow demanded.
“Coming back,” his wife told him. “She said so.”
Some time passed before Ivy did. She had a book in her hand then, and she carried it to Sên King-lo.
“Will you write in my confession book, Mr. Sên?” she asked.
“May I?” he said as he rose to take it.
Charles threw his cousin a cordial glance. She was a good girl. She’d thought of that to please him he was sure.
And Sên King-lo thought so too.