Adah Raymond was not a self-conscious girl, but for the life of her she could think of no reply to Lin Fo’s[Fo’s] speech.
“I am twenty-two years old now,” he continued. “Pau Tsu is eighteen. Tomorrow I will write to my parents and persuade them to send her to me at the time of the spring festival. My elder brother was married last year, and his wife is now under my parents’ roof, so that Pau Tsu, who has been the daughter of the house for so many years, can now be spared to me.”
“What a sweet little thing she must be,” commented Adah Raymond.
“You will say that when you see her,” proudly responded Lin Fo. “My parents say she is always happy. There is not a bird or flower or dewdrop in which she does not find some glad meaning.”
“I shall be so glad to know her. Can she speak English?”
Lin Fo’s face fell.
“No,” he replied, “but,”—brightening—“when she comes I will have her learn to speak like you—and be like you.”
II
Pau Tsu came with the spring, and Wan Lin Fo was one of the happiest and proudest of bridegrooms. The tiny bride was really very pretty—even to American eyes. In her peach and plum colored robes, her little arms and hands sparkling with jewels, and her shiny black head decorated with wonderful combs and pins, she appeared a bit of Eastern coloring amidst the Western lights and shades.