It was a pleasant enough family dinner. They talked the revolution, of course. No one in Shanghai at the beginning of that November talked anything else. Hui Fei quietly listened; her face very sober in repose. She seemed--she had always seemed--more delicately feminine in Western costume. She was more slender now; her face a perfect oval under the smooth, deep-shadowed hair. Her dark eyes, deep with stoically controlled feeling, rested on this or that speaker. Doane found them once or twice resting thoughtfully on himself. After dinner Mrs. Withery, with a glance at her husband, laid a sympathetic hand on Hui's shoulder. “My dear,” she said, all friendly sympathy, “Mr. Doane's time is precious, these days and nights. I know that you should take this opportunity to talk over your problems with him. I shall be bustling about here--suppose you take him out into the courtyard.” Without a word they walked out there; stood by a gnarled tree whose twisted limbs extended over the low tiled roofs. There was a little light from the windows. The long silence that followed was the most difficult moment yet. Doane found himself breathing rather hard. In Hui Fei he felt the calm Oriental patience that underlay all her Western experiences. She simply waited for him to speak. He looked down at her, quite holding his breath. She seemed almost frail out here, in the half light. He was fighting, with all his strength and experience, the warm sweet feelings that drugged his brain. “My dear--” he began; then, when she looked frankly up at him, hesitated. He hadn't known he was going to begin with any such phrase as that. He got on with it.... “I'm wondering how I can best help you. If I were a younger man there would be no question as to what I would have to say to you.” Utterly clumsy, of course; with little light ahead; just a dogged determination to serve her without hurting her. “I think a good 'eal of wha' they tell me you're doing”--thus Hui Fei, in a low but clear voice; not looking up now. “I've almos' envied you. Helping li' that.” “It must be hard for you--with all your mental interests--to sit quietly here.” “My min' goes on, of course,” she said. “Yes, it isn' ver' easy.” This was getting them nowhere. Doane, after a deep breath, took command of the situation. Sooner or later he would have to do that. “Hui, dear,” he said now--very quietly, but directly, “this is a difficult situation for both of us. The only thing, of course, is to meet it as frankly as we can. I learned to love your father--” She glanced up at this; her eyes glistened as the light caught them. “--but we can not blindly follow his wishes. He had seen and felt the West, but he died a Manchu.” Her soft lips framed the one word, “Yes.” The softness of her whole face, indeed, was disconcerting; it was all sober emotion, that she plainly didn't think of trying to hide. “And I'm sure you'll understand me when I tell you that I can not accept his legacy.”