“Oh!...” she exclaimed, then: “How do you do, Mr. Doane!... Elmer, have you spoken of that matter?”
“I was just beginning to, my dear.”
Mrs. Boatwright, after a silence, came in and closed the door softly behind her.
“Mr. Doane hasn't much time.” Boatwright's voice was low, tremulous. “Matters at So Thing are as bad as they could be. And he is going down to Hung Chan now.”
“To-night?” asked the wife, rather sharply.
Doane inclined his head.
“Then what are we to do?”
“Mr Doane,” put in the husband, “has given instructions that we are to stay here.”
“Oh—instructions?”
“Yes,” said Doane gravely. And he courteously explained: “The situation is developing too rapidly for us to get all the others in to T'ainan. And we can't desert them. Not yet. You will certainly be safer here than you would be on the road. Hung Chan is only eighteen miles. I shall be back within twenty-four hours, probably to-morrow evening. Then we will hold a conference and decide finally on a course. We may be reduced to demanding an escort to Ping Yang, telegraphing the others to save themselves as best they can.”