"And there was no word of you, dear. I was careful about that, not only for your sake, but for mine."
Silence.
"It is mere superstition anyway. These things have got to be exposed and done away with."
Still silence.
Mark Carson felt strangely chilled. Pan was not herself tonight. She did not even look herself. He had been accustomed to seeing her in American dress. Tonight she wore the Chinese costume. But for her clear-cut features she might have been a Chinese girl. He shivered.
"Pan," he asked, "why do you wear that dress?"
Within her sleeves Pan's small hands struggled together; but her face and voice were calm.
"Because I am a Chinese woman," she answered.
"You are not," cried Mark Carson, fiercely. "You cannot say that now, Pan. You are a white woman—white. Did your kiss not promise me that?"
"A white woman!" echoed Pan her voice rising high and clear to the stars above them. "I would not be a white woman for all the
