CHAPTER XV
The Meeting of the Mothers
Basil Gregory had written his formally couched
note of warning in a fidget. Nang Ping had no experience
of masculine fidgets. She had seen her countrywomen
fidget, but never her countrymen.
And Basil was in a fidget still when he came to her presently, not by stealth this time, no whistle heralding him, but walking swiftly from beyond the bridge.
She greeted him placidly, too proud to show the hauteur she felt now; but Low Soong knew that Nang Ping's heart was fluttering sickly under her jade and coral girdle.
Low returned his greeting with a placid face, but her narrow eyes were yellow with hate, and she turned at once and went to her old place of watch on the bridge.
"They will come soon?" Nang asked.
"Yes, they are lingering by the big lake, in the outer garden, and that gave me the chance to speak to you a moment. Oh! my darling." He had been near to hating her as he had been coming to her across the rippling water—hating her because he had wronged her, and now feared that he might not escape quite all share in her punishment; but now, as she stood there in all her pretty feminine trappings among her flowers, he longed to take her into his arms. She had never looked so altogether desirable to him before—probably because he had made up his mind to leave her, to snap his life and his years
