“If you will wait until I return, I will tell you all tonight,” I
answered.
Strange as it may seem, although I had known Liu Kanghi now for more
than a year, I had had little talk alone with him, and all he knew about
me was what he had learned from Mrs. Liu; namely, that I was a divorced
woman who, when saved from self-destruction, was homeless and starving.
That night, however, after hearing my story, he asked me to be his wife.
He said: “I love you and would protect you from all trouble. Your child
shall be as my own.”
I replied: “I appreciate your love and kindness, but I cannot answer you
just yet. Be my friend for a little while longer.”
“Do you have for me the love feeling?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I answered truthfully.
Another letter came. It was written in a different spirit from the first
and contained a threat about the child.
There seemed but one course open to me. That was to leave my Chinese
friends. I did. With much sorrow and regret I bade them goodbye, and
took lodgings in a part of the city far removed from the outskirts of
Chinatown where my home had been with the Lius. My little girl pined for
her Chinese playmates, and I myself felt strange and lonely; but I knew
that if I wished to keep my child I could no longer remain with my
friends.
I still continued working for Liu Kanghi, and carried my embroidery to
his store in the evening after the little one had been put to sleep. He
usually escorted me back; but never asked to be allowed, and I never
invited him, to visit me, or even enter the house. I was a young woman,
and alone, and what I had suffered from scandal since I had left James
Carson had made me wise.
It was a cold, wet evening in November when he accosted me once again. I
had run over to a delicatessen store at the corner of the block where I
lived. As I stepped out, his burly figure loomed up in the gloom before
me. I started back with a little cry, but he grasped my arm and held it.
“Walk beside me quietly if you do not wish to attract attention,” said
he, “and by God, if you do, I will take the kid tonight!”
“You dare not!” I answered. “You have no right to her whatever. She is
my child and I have supported her for the last two years alone.”
“Alone! What will the judges say when I tell them about the Chinaman?”
“What will the judges say!” I echoed. “What can they say? Is there any
disgrace in working for a Chinese merchant and receiving pay for my
labor?”
“And walking in the evening with him, and living for over a year in a
house for which he paid the rent. Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!”
His laugh was low and sneering. He had evidently been making enquiries
concerning the Liu family, and also watching me for some time. How a
woman can loathe and hate the man she has once loved!
We were nearing my lodgings. Perhaps the child had awakened and was
crying for me. I would not, however, have entered the house, had he not
stopped at the door and pushed it open.
“Lead the way upstairs!” said he. “I want to see the kid.”
“You shall not,” I cried. In my desperation I wrenched myself from his
grasp and faced him, blocking the stairs.
“If you use violence,” I declared, “the lodgers will come to my
assistance. They know me!”
He released my arm.
“Bah!” said he. “I’ve no use for the kid. It is you I’m after getting
reconciled to. Don’t you know, Minnie, that once your husband, always
your husband? Since I saw you the other day on the street, I have been
more in love with you than ever before. Suppose we forget all and begin
over again!”
Though the tone of his voice had softened, my fear of him grew greater.
I would have fled up the stairs had he not again laid his hand on my
arm.
“Answer me, girl,” said he.
And in spite of my fear, I shook off his hand and answered him: “No
husband of mine are you, either legally or morally. And I have no
feeling whatever for you other than contempt.”
“Ah! So you have sunk!”—his expression was evil—“The oily little Chink
has won you!”