And a week later Sên King-lo dined with the Snows. Again they, at dinner, were a cosy party of four. Lady Snow had wished to make the occasion a function, but Sir Charles had asked her to do nothing of the sort. And he had asked Ivy to make a point of dining at home that night. Neither woman thought of refusing to do as he asked. They both loved him too well—and his requests were too infrequent to be resented or callously disregarded. And Ivy was unaffectedly indifferent whether she dined at home that night or not. If she had dined almost tête-à-tête with Mr. Sên King-lo at Rosehill, she could do so at Emma’s. And that Charles had spoken as he had of the Chinese had made more impression on her than Miss Julia’s warm laudation of Mr. Sên had. Charles was a man. He had lived in China. He reasoned and thought. Miss Julia was only a woman, and felt more than she reasoned—“guessed” more than she knew. “I shall make a ‘grand toilet,’ even if Charlie won’t let me make it a grand dinner party,” Emma Snow told her cousin, as she gouged her spoon into her breakfast grapefruit. “You can dress as much or as little as you like, Ivy. Mr. Sên will scarcely expect an unmarried girl to be gorgeous.” “After several Washington seasons!” Sir Charles said dryly. “Dress as much or as little as you like—both you girls—so long as you don’t undress too much. That always puts a Chinese off—even one who knows that with us it merely is virtue unabashed.” “Don’t _you_ be indecent,” his wife cried sharply. “I’m sure my gowns never are.” “I don’t see that yellow thing you wore on Tuesday taking a prize at a Quaker meeting-house,” her husband retorted quietly. Emma dimpled. So Charlie had noticed a gown of hers for once! “Wear something friendly looking, something home-like, as fine as you like, but nothing of the fireworks order, to put a man off his food. And _be_ friendly. That’s all I ask.” The two women stared in surprise. “Perhaps you’d like to look through my rags, and tell Justine which to lay out for tonight?” “It might not be a bad idea,” Snow replied. “Well!” Lady Snow gasped. “Would you like me to have a few Chinese flags in the drawing-room?” she demanded. “And the table decorated with red fire-crackers?” “I would not!” she was told. “For the love of Mike, be good tonight, Em!” “I wish I knew why you care so much,” she pouted. “My dear,” he assured her, “you wouldn’t understand a word, if I told you all about it. But I have my reasons, of course. I want Sên King-lo to feel at home here. And I want him to come again.” “Silly old politics!” the wife said scornfully. But her eyes danced. Probably Charlie would let it be a big dinner-party next time. “Precisely!” Sir Charles confirmed. “Silly old politics.”