“You were speaking of Sên King-lo,” she said—but no one had mentioned him there. “Every one is. It is odious that he should be tolerated among us. He ought to be horsewhipped out of the place.” And in spite of Lady Snow’s imperative gesture, she plunged into all the recent scandal—even into noisome details. And Sên King-lo came into the room as she shrilly told one nauseous item. “Had you heard all this?” she demanded pointedly of Ivy. “Yes—all, though worded less uncomfortably, I’m glad to say, than you have,” Miss Gilbert said clearly, rising and crossing the room to Sên King-lo, who stood in the doorway with Sir Charles Snow beside him. “Good afternoon Mr. Sên,”—it was then that the other women turned and saw him,—“I was wishing you’d come. I want you to ride with me tomorrow. Will you take me?” “You know how glad I always am,” he replied, as she gave him her hand. His face had not changed as he had unavoidably heard Emmeline’s last sentences. But his eyes flashed into Ivy’s as he held her fingers, and then he turned and went to his hostess, cool and quiet as he always was. But Ivy spoke to him again as soon as Emma had greeted him. “Thank you for my lilies,” she said with a glance down at them, and a smile into his eyes: “they are lovelier than ever today, I think.” Before Sên could reply—and he never was slow—Miss Hamilton rose from her chair dramatically; but before she could speak, Sir Charles Snow gave her his arm and led her courteously from the room. Sên King-lo went to the door and opened and held it. The others went almost at once, and Lady Snow went into the hall with the last to go and did not come back. But she said to Sên as she passed him, “Do stay and dine—we’ll none of us dress.” “Shall I stay?” Sên asked Ivy, as the closed door left them alone. “I want you to,” she answered. “And thank you again for my lilies. Won’t you have a few sprays—they’ll dress you for dinner—as they do me,” and she held out the sprays she’d pulled from her dress as she spoke. “So they will,” Sên said, as he bowed over the tiny white bells of perfume and the fingers that gave them. “Thank you.” CHAPTER XXIII They rode the next day, and Ivy suggested “a Washington ride,” but Sên laughed and turned Sinbad towards the Potomac, across the bridge, into the icicled country roads.