"Sometimes," Nancy admitted.
"Do you like our ways better?"
Nancy was surprised at the question and reluctant to answer.
"Perhaps—sometimes," suggested the old grandmother, answering herself, and turned to laugh at the shadow of the smile Nancy could not hide.
"Don't be afraid of me," she said, patting the girl's hand from pleasure at her own jest. "I shall be your father and your mother from this time forth—hm-m, just like a magistrate, remember. You can tell your troubles to me as freely as you please and, even if the walls have ears, they won't dare speak till I let them."
Her words lulled Nancy into a pleasing warmth of security. She forgot her weariness, the despair with which she had risen this very morning to start on a hopeless journey, for the old t'ai-t'ai's words were spoken with the authority of one who could promise peace when she wished and protection to those she liked. And she really liked Nancy.
"Your Western friends," she resumed, "they must have been appalled by your marrying a Chinese. Did they try to dissuade you?"
"Yes, they did try."
"Ah, of course, they wouldn't understand. And perhaps they were right. You may go back to them some day; who knows?"
"Oh no, I shall never go back to them," Nancy protested, dreading lest the woman should doubt her loyalty to the promise she had made.