quite relinquished her hope of seeing the interior of the house—"and I am afraid we are keeping Miss Wu long after her tea-time."
"Oh, no!" Nang Ping said, "not at the least; but"—for she knew her strength was ebbing fast, and she felt very ill—"I—I am not strong to-day. And—I must seek my apartments early, as my honorable father has returned." She turned to Ah Sing, who had not moved from his sentinel place in front of the pagoda, and said to him, "Tsu tang yang ur!" And he bowed and went to summon the lantern-bearers.
Florence Gregory took both the Chinese girl's little hands in hers. "How cold they feel, even through my gloves!" she thought. "Good-by," she said very gently. "Good-by, Miss Wu, and let me thank you for the great treat you have given us."
Nang Ping made no reply—she couldn't—but she looked up at her going guest with something so pathetic in her odd eyes and something so nearly a-tremble on her mouth that the older woman almost bent and kissed her.
"Where's Basil?" Tom Carruthers asked. "Has he cleared off, Hilda?"
"Yes," she told him, "he had a conscientious fit and has gone to the office to work. Good-by, Miss Wu," she said to Nang Ping, "and thanks awfully. It's been quite too ripping."
Nang felt too faint by now to wonder what the odd English words the other girl used meant. But she smiled up at Basil's sister very kindly.
"You shall be attended to the gates," she said to her, and added to Carruthers, as he came to take leave, "My own garden is locked at sunset."
