"He must be a relative of yours," sniffed Herrick skeptically.
"He is," acknowledged his wife. "Why should I prefer the treasure whose value I have known only by hearsay when I can bring the treasure I have tested in my own home? He is my nephew, so I can vouch for him."
"Well, I am content to look at this paragon, though I heard of no unicorn being present at his birth. Your father was a man of great parts; perhaps it's not impossible some of his ability may have strained through to his grandson."
Herrick waited for the father of the youth to call. The visit was promising. Herrick had known the t'ai-t'ai's brother in days past and was pleased to see him ripened into a dignified, well-spoken man with the easiness of manner which characterized training of the old school. In due time the son himself was produced. Herrick noted his face and his bearing, summoned every resource of his own knowledge to examine him as to what he had learned of the classics, made him write characters, interpret scrolls. The boy stood the ordeal well. Every question that was put to him he answered in a quiet, collected voice. He looked soberly handsome in his dark green jacket and long green gown. He did not shift from foot to foot or twist his hands or venture to stare at his inquisitor.
"I am glad to see that he has been taught the proprieties," Herrick said—the first mark of satisfaction he had shown.
The engagement of course was not settled in a day. It was too grave a business for such haste. The birthday cards had been exchanged and the eight characters on each of them compared, to make sure that the year, month, day, and hour of Nancy's birth matched those of Ming-te, the t'ai-t'ai's nephew. The t'ai-t'ai was too wily a contriver to be balked by a little detail of soothsaying: the making of Nancy's card was in her own hands. So well she managed it that Chou Hsien-sheng, the father of the boy, was astonished at a mating the stars themselves seemed to have predestined.
Yet Herrick was loath to bind himself to the final bargain. He was satisfied with Ming-te, quite confident that no better Chinese husband could be found for his daughter; nevertheless, the businesslike dryness of arranging betrothal for a girl so instinct with delicate imaginings disheartened the father, made him sore in spirit. He had specified that Nancy should not be married for four years, a point he had some trouble winning, for the fifteen thousand taels were not to be paid till the wedding; to gain his will here, Herrick had to concede one third of Nancy's dowry at her engagement. But after all the terms had been talked out, the amount and number of betrothal presents decided, every obstacle cleared, Herrick still hung back, for he knew when the red cards were exchanged he should have given up irrevocably his claims upon his daughter.
"I wish Nancy could see the boy for herself," he told the t'ai-t'ai. "I know my own judgment is better than hers and that I ought to do this without a qualm—yet my heart does not feel quite right about it."
For once in her life the t'ai-t'ai could not control a vivid expression of her feelings. She was appalled by her husband's vacillating temper. After all the concessions she had made as matchmaker, after allowing Herrick not only to see the father of the boy but the unprecedented privilege of seeing the boy himself, her patience was outraged by the mere suggestion of his turning back.
"Of course she can't see him. How can she see him? When has that ever been done?" she demanded.