"Like a sparrow and a phœnix," suggested the mother wickedly. Hai t'ai-t'ai flushed in annoyance, but the dowager stopped her from speaking.
"How will they learn to live together in peace and harmony?" she echoed. "Ah, my daughter, you are old enough to answer that question, or must I answer it for you and say they never will learn. If you could have got fifteen thousand taels without this girl, would you have taken her? No, indeed not. But I would have taken her without a cash. So she belongs to me. She will never be of any use to this family because I am the only one who knows how to use her. And I am old—and I have no husband to give her. She will be safer with me. If Ming-te wants a bedfellow, get him one. You can afford to spend on him a little of the money he has earned. Buy him a nice, good-tempered, pretty wife; the country is full of them. He will be happy, you will be happy, and I shall have peace."
CHAPTER XXXII
Nancy returned to find the formidable old t'ai-t'ai crowing over her triumph. To outwit her daughter was always tonic which put new life in her veins.
"Can you choose between your husband and me?" she asked, with her usual terrifying directness.
Nancy knew the time for a straight answer.
"I can choose," she replied.
"Bravely spoken," said the old lady in her glee, "you are too clever to be a mere bedfellow."
Nancy saw what was coming next but waited carefully so as not to miss her cue in this game of frank riddles.