"I could not move him," went on the t'ai-t'ai. "His life must have gone out like that." She clicked her tongue. "I knew he was dead when I touched him. Ah, what a time to die, what a time to die!"
This last exclamation brought back to Kuei-lien the needs of the moment. The possibilities of her own future were too immense to be considered now; they were like disordered fragments strewn across the floor of her brain, baffling her as to how to begin sorting them, and so there was respite from her own peril diverting her thoughts to the problem of Nancy's wedding. That at least was less disturbing than the prospect of what might happen to her.
"Well, I suppose this must postpone the marriage," she said, trying to see what was in the mind of her mistress; "at least it delays it for the hundred days, doesn't it?"
"But we can't postpone the marriage," moaned the woman; "the money hasn't been paid."
"The money hasn't been paid?" asked Kuei-lien incredulously. "But we shall have no face at all if we go on with a wedding when the master is dead in the house. That would be impossible. We are not coolies. What would men say?"
"We must go on with it," persisted the t'ai-t'ai. Then she grew more secretive. "No one knows he is dead, unless it be Nancy. He must have died while she was there. What was she doing when you went in?"
"Just standing there, looking at her feet."
"You were outside all the time?"
"Yes."
"What did you hear? Did the girl do anything or say anything?"