for this once his scrutiny was open, almost frank. And as he passed from the room, the two Chinese servants interchanged a long, grave look. Ah Sing closed the door behind him.
"How stifling it is here!" Mrs. Gregory said, unfastening her cloak and drawing off her gloves. "I wonder where my hostess has gone off to. How very droll of her! Ah Wong"—putting her hand a moment on the other's arm—"I'm glad I have you with me!" The amah took the cloak and the gloves; put the gloves in the cloak, the cloak over her arm. And after a moment Mrs. Gregory moved wearily across the room.
Ah Wong looked hurriedly about the room—searchingly. She gave a little quick breath when she saw the one high window. Without a sound she went to Mrs. Gregory and touched her arm. Florence turned questioningly, and Ah Wong pointed eloquently up to the high orifice; then, watching first one door and then another, she moved a carved bench a little nearer the window—without a sound—while the mistress stood and watched her half curious, half amused. Again the amah pointed—this time from bench to window, and from the window to the bench. She thrust her hand into her dress, clutching at something hidden there, and bent her face close to her mistress's ear. But her own ear caught an almost imperceptible sound, and when Wu came from his bedroom Ah Wong was standing some distance from her lady, stolid but bored, her empty hands folded in front of her, idly.
The mandarin stood just inside the door, gravely watching. He did not speak. His face was very calm, priestly even.
Florence Gregory felt his presence, and turned with eager, welcoming eyes. But when she saw him she re-
