CHAPTER VII
A Tortured Boyhood
On the whole, young Wu enjoyed the voyage. He
liked the way the foreign women eyed his clothes;
not one of them had garments half so fine. He liked
the motion of the boat when once he had mastered it.
There were snatches of absorbing sightseeing at Colombo
and at Malta. And in those days one had to change
boats between Hong Kong and Southampton. He had
much to think of when he chose to sit alone. He had
Muir to talk with when he liked to talk. And the captain,
on whose left hand he sat at table from Hong
Kong to Colombo, was friendly without patronage and
played a good game of chess.
And by some strength of will and childhood's splendid resilience he had thrown off (or laid away) his heart-*broken apathy with his sea-sickness. He enjoyed the voyage, on the whole.
When they landed at Southampton Wu thought that he had found Bedlam, and wondered, as he had not done before, why his grandfather had condemned him to such hideous exile. Everything he saw revolted him. He thought that nothing could be uglier. He was not even interested. The very novelty had no charm. His little gorge rose. Europe—seen so and so sounding—was a stench in his nostrils and rank offense to his eyes. He held up his heavy embroidered satin skirts and tucked them about him close, as a girl in Sunday-best might
