Page:Mr. Wu (IA mrwumilnlouisejo00milniala).pdf/164

 CHAPTER XXII

That afternoon Florence Gregory, coming in with Hilda and Ah Wong from a weary, distracted searching—searching here, there, everywhere—found in her sitting-room such a basket of flowers as she had never seen before, and a red Chinese visiting card, three inches wide and fully eight inches long. Ah Wong eyed it dismayed, and at her lady's command translated the ideographic characters reluctantly. "No like," she added. "Chlinese lady no make vlisit so way—Chlinese lady no have vlisitling clard chit. No like."

"But who is Sing Kung Yah?" Mrs. Gregory asked wearily, not interested to know, except that any straw might prove a clew to the only thing on earth that mattered now, and so must be clutched.

"Lido wuman," the amah said contemptuously, her fine, acrid Mongolian disgust in no way softened by the unhappy fact that she herself was a widow also.

"Whose widow is she?" Mrs. Gregory was puzzled.

"Not know."

"Who is she? Why has she called?"

"Not know—whly she clome—or send slweet blossoms. Not know if she clome itself."

"Find out."

"Madam, can do," the woman said, running off on her errand reluctantly.

"Did," she reported presently. "Top-side chair. Plenty coolie."