Yeh Ling wrote:
“Dear Miss Ardfern: I am giving what you call a house-warming on Monday
next. Will you not come? And please if you can, will you persuade Mr.
Carver and Mr. Holland also to be my guests for this festivity?”
The girl wrote instantly accepting the invitation both on her own and
Tab’s behalf.
“It is a great idea,” said the news editor, “there is a story in that
house, Tab. Now, boy, see if for once in your young life you can turn
in a really informative column! There is something gone wrong with
your stuff lately, the night editors are complaining bitterly about
the slush that finds its way into your literary efforts. You are not
supposed to refer to the Secretary of State as ‘darling’, and it is not
usual to speak of a judge as ‘beloved.’”
Tab went very red.
“Do I do that, Jacques?” he asked conscience-stricken.
“You do worse than that,” said Jacques. “Now--a good story about those
pillars of Yeh Ling’s. Get a touch of the flaming east into your
mundane exercises, will you?”
Tab promised faithfully that he would.
He had the unexpected pleasure of meeting Mr. Stott at the
house-warming, and introducing that gentleman to Ursula. Mr. Stott had
a particular interest in Yeh Ling’s fabric, for, as he explained some
dozen times, he had put in the foundations.
“I owe you a very great deal, Mr. Stott,” said Ursula warmly. “Tab--Mr.
Holland has told me how splendidly brave you were on the night of the
fire.”
Mr. Stott coughed.
“There is some talk in town of presenting me with a piece of plate,”
he said deprecatingly, “I have done my best to stop it. I hate a fuss
about a trifle of that description. The curious thing is, all my family
have disliked that kind of fuss. Our family has always hated publicity.
My father, who was perhaps the best minister in the Baptist movement,
might have gone into the church and become a bishop--in fact, they
practically offered him a bishopric--he was just the same. I remember--”
Yeh Ling led them through the house, showing them his art treasures
accumulated with some labour, and now seeing the light of day for the
first time.
Ursula felt very happy, was childishly appreciative and enthusiastic
over every beautiful little statuette, over every example of the naive
painters’ art which Yeh Ling showed her.
“Yeh Ling,” she said, when they were alone for a second, “have you
heard any news of Mr. Lander?”
He shook his head.
“Do you think he has got away to another country?” she asked.
“I think not,” said Yeh Ling.
“Do you know, Yeh Ling?” she said meaningly.
“I can only assure you, Miss Ardfern,” said Yeh Ling, waving the cool
air into his face with a beautifully painted fan, “that I have never
looked upon Mr. Lander’s face since the night I saw him at the Golden
Roof.”