But she beat them off, saying, "Go away. I do not want you now. Go away."
But they clustered the closer and girdled her with their arms, but again she shook them off, repeating impatiently, "Pa choopa, pa choopa;" and realizing that she meant it, they went, tumbling against each other as they ran laughing and singing, and turning as they went, and hurling flowers at her, and crying, "Pu yao choopa," that they did not wish to go away.
When they had gone the cousins went to the pagoda, looked in it, and then about it, carefully. Then they beat the garden as some careful watchman might some treasure-place of price.
It was growing dusk.
The girls went together to the lotus basin, and stood a long time looking down into its darkling glass. But neither spoke. The brilliant lilies were softer-colored now, turning to pink and blue-greys, and the red few almost to ruddy black.
A long, low whistle pierced through the gloaming from beyond the wall.
Nang Ping's tiny hand clutched excitedly at her sash. "Soetzo"—"go and watch over the bridge," she told her cousin quickly. But Low Soong had already gone.
The blackbird whistle came again, nearer, but very soft.
Nang Ping answered it with a high falsetto crooning, and in a moment more a man cautiously parted the bamboos that grew clumped beyond the wall, vaulted it, and stood within the garden. Nang Ping ran to him with a little gurgling cry, and he caught her in his arms.
No Chinese lover this, in Oriental gala dress, with glancing amber eyes and coarse threads of strong red
