“I think a good 'eal of wha' they tell me you're doing”—thus Hui Fei, in a low but clear voice; not looking up now. “I've almos' envied you. Helping li' that.”
“It must be hard for you—with all your mental interests—to sit quietly here.”
“My min' goes on, of course,” she said. “Yes, it isn' ver' easy.”
This was getting them nowhere. Doane, after a deep breath, took command of the situation. Sooner or later he would have to do that.
“Hui, dear,” he said now—very quietly, but directly, “this is a difficult situation for both of us. The only thing, of course, is to meet it as frankly as we can. I learned to love your father—”
She glanced up at this; her eyes glistened as the light caught them.
“—but we can not blindly follow his wishes. He had seen and felt the West, but he died a Manchu.”
Her soft lips framed the one word, “Yes.” The softness of her whole face, indeed, was disconcerting; it was all sober emotion, that she plainly didn't think of trying to hide.
“And I'm sure you'll understand me when I tell you that I can not accept his legacy.”
She startled him now with the low but direct question: “Why not?”