"I asked you what you are going to do with her," repeated the old woman, with an acid inflection to the question.
"What do you want done with her?" countered the daughter, anxious to see where her mother's words were leading.
"I want you to let her go. She does not belong here. Ming-te has a wife; he is contented. I want you to send her back to her own people."
"But that would cause scandal."
"Scandal, nonsense! No more scandal than was caused by your bringing her here in the first place or by your keeping her here. No one thinks scandal of what a foreigner does. People simply say they are crazy—that is the end of it. She will be forgotten in a week. That would be much more comfortable for all of you than to have to keep explaining her presence."
"You will tire yourself if you talk too much," remonstrated the younger woman. "It is not good for your sickness."
"What do I care what is good for my sickness?" exclaimed the t'ai-t'ai. "I am going to die anyway. I shall have plenty of time to be silent then."
"You mustn't say such things," spoke out the other, pretending to be shocked. "You are not going to die. This cold that you are suffering from, that will soon pass. You have lived too long to be snuffed out by the first winter gale."
"Don't you think this is a time to be honest?" asked her mother.
The other woman avoided an answer.