dead stone that glitters only with a cold fire. He could not see that even birds stopped to listen when she spoke, so soft and sweet was her voice. But though the Mandarin was blinded by age-old custom and tradition, there was nothing wrong with the faculties of Hung Long Tom. All the love which was denied by her father was showered upon the exquisite Lotus Blossom by him. He liked to watch her as she moved about among the flowers. She was beautifully formed. Her silken garments clung to her gentle form like flower petals. Pale yellow were her cheeks, a lovely yellow which emphasized the deep red of her lips and the intense blackness of her almond eyes. Her black hair glistened in the sunlight with a faint suggestion of blue in the texture. Her eyebrows were as thin and even as the new moon's crescent. When she stooped and pressed her lips to a fragrant flower, the perfume itself was sweetened by her breath. And yet her father, the foolish Mandarin, had ever grieved that she was not a boy.
At this period of his life it seemed as though
