Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/27

 would be a sign of weakness. No one must see her weep. After all, of what use are anger or tears against an enemy who had disappeared even as characters written in the sand?

No wonder Yuhan was excited. Her future had been arranged, thanks to the clever manipulations of her venerable uncle, Yang Yuan-kuei. Fortunate indeed was she that he had not married her off to the jade merchant who had offered so many rolls of silk in exchange for the privilege of being her husband. The jade merchant was ugly and old. When he laughed, he looked like a toad. No, she could not have esteemed such a husband, who always would have appeared an object for derision in the eyes of her heart.

A Mandarin from Loyang, too, had desired her. He had hired a go-between to broach the delicate matter. He wished to make her his Number Two Wife, which was honor indeed, for his old First Wife was wrinkled, shriveled and worn out. Yuhan might bear him a son. His offer was as tantalizing as pomegranates, but her uncle had only smiled. Yang Yuan-kuei was a great statesman, for he was able to handle the heart of Yuhan, even as he handled certain affairs of the Imperial Court where he occupied a dignified position.

He was tolerant, master of etiquette and a lover of grapes from whose spirit a new type of wine had been squeezed. True, it was not as good as rice wine. It did not tickle the palate. But the fresh fruit was a passion