“I don' know yet what I can do,” she was saying, very honestly and simply (they hadn't yet mentioned Mr. Doane). “Of course I'm a Manchu, after all. An' blood does coun'. I feel that. A good many people to-day talk differen'ly, I know. We saw a good 'eal of Socialism at college. The idealists to-day--the Jews an' Russians an' even some of our Chinese students--the younger men--talk as if race doesn' matter. But of course it does. It will ta' thousan's of years, I suppose, to bring the races together. An' maybe it's impossible. Maybe it can' be done at all. I think tha's the tragedy of so much of this beautiful dreaming.... An' here you see I'm a Manchu, an' yet I wan' the Manchus put out of China. Because they won' let China grow. An' China mus' grow, or die.” He was moodily watching her; head bowed a little, gazing out under knit brows. “Do you know,” he said, “it's a queer thing to say, of course, but sometimes you make me feel terribly young.” She smiled faintly. “You are--rather young, Rocky.” He closed his eyes and compressed his lips; his name, on her lips, was dangerously thrilling music to him. After a moment he went doggedly on. “The crowds I've gone with at home haven't talked about these things. They wouldn't think it good form.” “I know,” said she. “They woul'n'.” “I'm beginning to wonder if we're--well, intelligent, exactly. You know--just motors and horses and girls and bridge and 'killings' in Wall Street.” “Killings?” Her brows were lifted. “Oh--picking up a lot of money, quick.” “That,” she mused, “is what I sometimes worry about. You know, I love America. I have foun' happiness there. I love the books an' the colleges and the freedom an' all the goo' times. But it is true, I think--money is God in America. Pipple don' like to have you say it, of course. But I'm afraid it is true. Ever'-thing has to come to money--the gover'men', the churches, ever'thing. I have seen that. That is the hard side of America. I don' like that so well.” Finally--coming down, helplessly, on the personal, yet with a courageous light in his eyes--he said: “I do want you to know this--Hui. You won't mind my speaking of my love for you--” Her hand moved a very little way upward. “Please! I can't help that. It's my life now. I'm full of you. And it has changed me. I'm--I'm going back.... I'm going at things differently. I want you to know that. Because if I hadn't met you it couldn't possibly have happened. And if I hadn't--well, learned what it means to love a wonderful girl like you. I want you to know how big the change is that you've made.” “Rocky,” she said gently--“will you do something for me?” He waited.... “I wan' you to go back to college.” “I've already made up my mind to that,” he replied, more quietly. “It's the job for me now. It's the next thing.” “I'm glad,” said she. “An' I'd love it if you'd write to me sometimes.” He inclined his head.