She made a pretty picture, her husband thought, in her draperies of peacock-blue and apple-green—how much had _they_ cost? he wondered indulgently—and a discreet swarm of about half her second best diamonds—he knew perfectly well what they had cost. And Sên King-lo proceeded to amuse her gaily and devotedly. But she saw his eyes sweep the room. “Where’s Ivy?” Snow demanded. “Coming back,” his wife told him. “She said so.” Some time passed before Ivy did. She had a book in her hand then, and she carried it to Sên King-lo. “Will you write in my confession book, Mr. Sên?” she asked. “May I?” he said as he rose to take it. Charles threw his cousin a cordial glance. She was a good girl. She’d thought of that to please him he was sure. And Sên King-lo thought so too. They were right—but more wrong than right. For herself Ivy Gilbert had no wish that Sên King-lo should write in her confession book. But she knew how it would excite Lucille and Molly, and how they’d enjoy it and chatter about it. And that chiefly was why she’d trudged upstairs and down to get the vellum-bound volume. “Shall I write in English or in Chinese?” Sên asked her. “In both, please—use two places.” “I shall obey,” he promised. “May I take it away with me? One needs preparation and prayer for a supreme literary effort.” “Of course,” the girl nodded. “Is your own in it?” Sên asked her. “One has to set the ball rolling,” she answered. “May I look?” He turned to the first page, as she nodded. “What perfectly soul-scouring queries!” he jibed. “No, I shall not study your revelations of your utmost self until later,” he announced, closing the toy. But the quick Chinese eyes must have caught one question and answer, for he said, “So riding is your favorite pastime, Miss Gilbert. Do you often ride here?” “Almost never; Sir Charles hasn’t often the time to take me. Lady Snow’s lazy, she hates riding, and I hate riding alone—with only a groom to follow.” “I wonder,” Sên replied, “if—after we are older friends, Lady Snow would allow me to ride with you some day, Miss Gilbert? And I very much wonder, if you’d let me? Miss Julia Townsend says she’d ride with me, if she were younger, and I have driven her several times in my dog-cart, without a groom.” “I’ve no doubt Miss Julia would ride with you in a balloon—if you wished it,” Miss Gilbert said severely. “Happy thought!” Sên retorted. “Shall I ask her?” “Let me be there when you ask her,” Emma Snow giggled. “Let me be there when you go up,” was Sir Charles’ request. “She’d go all right, I’ve no doubt of that. She’s a splendid sport.” “She’s a delightful, wonderful woman,” Sên King-lo added. “Will you let me take you, Miss Gilbert—if Lady Snow will allow me?” “In a balloon?” “Not for worlds,” Sên declined; “on a horse. I have one that would carry a lady perfectly, Lady Snow.”