times they heard the truants, Mr. Gregory and Tom Carruthers, coming.
Carruthers was speaking. "There, Mr. Gregory, there's a pond full of goldfish—and such goldfish! By Jove!"
"My dear Tom," an older voice said impatiently, "there's more sense in a bowl of herrings than a pondful of silly goldfish."
"Ah!—still," the younger persisted, as the two men came in sight, "you must admit this is another lovely spot."
"H'm, yes," Robert Gregory allowed, pursing up his lips deprecatingly in a way he often had when bartering in boats or rates. "Rather reminds me of Kew Gardens, but inferior—too gimcrack!"
But Carruthers saw the others then. "Ah! There they are! Taking tea under rather better conditions than Kew, I fancy."
Nang Ping rose and went towards Gregory hospitably. He lifted his hat perfunctorily and spoke to her crisply, not waiting for the welcome she had risen to accord. "How do you do? Miss Wu, I presume? It's awfully good of you to let us have a look around."
Mrs. Gregory rose too, and came up to Nang Ping, feeling the girl's resentment at a tone to which she was unaccustomed—a resentment she in no way showed.
"My husband, Miss Wu," the English lady said, presenting him to the girl, and speaking to her with pointed respect, and the man took the hint a little, and bowed pleasantly enough as Nang Ping almost ko'towed.
So this was the father—Basil's honorable father! She liked him least of the three—the three who might have been her relatives—more to her than her own father, whom she had known so long and loved so well. He was
