“I saw it as you do, on the whole—until—the other day,” he admitted; “but I see it differently now.” “You would,” Sir Charles said with a smile that was grim but patient and not unkind. “I did not know—not until a short time ago—how it was with me. It took me quite by surprise.” “It frequently does.” “I was a dunce, of course, not to know where I was drifting.” “We always are——” “But when I found out and looked it in the face—I did do that—I firmly determined to——” “Cut it out?” “Yes, just that! And then—the other day——” “It ran you out.” Sên nodded. “And now,” he added, his face radiant, “I cannot give Ruby up!” “Or think you can’t,” Snow insinuated. “So you call her Ruby! I like it best, and it suits her too. There is not much of the clinging vine about her, I think, and I assure you there was none at all yesterday when I attempted to say to her less than a tenth of what I have said to you.” Sên laughed—rather proudly. Sir Charles Snow’s affectionate smile was grimmer. “I’m afraid I’ve filched your own name for her,” Sên King-lo said. “I too think it suits her the better, and it’s the name I’ve always cared for most—it was my mother’s name.” “By Jove!” Snow murmured, and added under his breath, “I’d forgotten that.” Sên King-lo looked up in amazement from the match he was striking, and his eyes were not pleased. How came this Englishman to have heard that? A Chinese gentleman does not name his wife to another man—and in China her children may not speak it. They smoked on in silence. Sir Charles was musing. “Are you a Christian?” he asked suddenly. “No,” the Chinese told him, “though I was confirmed at Public School—they made it part of the ‘course,’ as they did cricket and footer—and I took it all as part of the ‘English’ I was there to learn.” He added, but with absolute courtesy, “Are you?” “I believe in God,” Snow said stoutly. “So do I.” “But not in our God, not in hers!” “I think I do,” Sên King-lo assented. “I believe that there is only one God—many gods, but only one God. Does it matter what we call him? I think not. Or matter how we reach him? I can’t believe it. And, on my soul, I don’t believe that there is much difference between any two religions that are both sincere and devout.” “Would you say that in China?” Snow demanded quietly. “I hope so,” Sên King-lo replied, “if I had any reason to do so, to any one who had the right to ask. There still are parts of China, of course, in which it wouldn’t be altogether safe to whisper it even—not for a Chinese to do so—and in them I should not go out of my way to megaphone it. We have not, as it happens, spoken together about religion—Miss Gilbert and I; but I shall not try to convert her to any one of our old Chinese religions. I can promise you that. And they are crumbling fast. Christianity’s the coming religion of China.” “I don’t believe it.”