But for all these soothing reflections, there was an undercurrent of feeling which caused his steps to falter on his way to Pan. He turned into Portsmouth Square and took a seat on one of the benches facing the fountain erected in memory of Robert Louis Stevenson. Why had Pan failed to answer the note he had written telling her of the assignment which would keep him out of town for a couple of months and giving her his address? Would Robert Louis Stevenson have known why? Yes—and so did Mark Carson. But though Robert Louis Stevenson would have boldly answered himself the question, Mark Carson thrust it aside, arose, and pressed up the hill. “I knew they would not blame you, Pan!” “Yes.” “And there was no word of you, dear. I was careful about that, not only for your sake, but for mine.” Silence. “It is mere superstition anyway. These things have got to be exposed and done away with.” Still silence. Mark Carson felt strangely chilled. Pan was not herself tonight. She did not even look herself. He had been accustomed to seeing her in American dress. Tonight she wore the Chinese costume. But for her clear-cut features she might have been a Chinese girl. He shivered. “Pan,” he asked, “why do you wear that dress?” Within her sleeves Pan’s small hands struggled together; but her face and voice were calm. “Because I am a Chinese woman,” she answered. “You are not,” cried Mark Carson, fiercely. “You cannot say that now, Pan. You are a white woman—white. Did your kiss not promise me that?” “A white woman!” echoed Pan her voice rising high and clear to the stars above them. “I would not be a white woman for all the world. _You_ are a white man. And _what_ is a promise to a white man!” * * * * * When she was lying low, the element of Fire having raged so fiercely within her that it had almost shriveled up the childish frame, there came to the house of Man You a little toddler who could scarcely speak. Climbing upon Pan’s couch, she pressed her head upon the sick girl’s bosom. The feel of that little head brought tears. “Lo!” said the mother of the toddler. “Thou wilt bear a child thyself some day, and all the bitterness of this will pass away.” And Pan, being a Chinese woman, was comforted. THE GIFT OF LITTLE ME The schoolroom was decorated with banners and flags wrought in various colors. Chinese lanterns swung overhead. A big, green, porcelain frog with yellow eyes squatted in the centre of the teacher’s desk. Tropical and native plants: azaleas, hyacinths, palms, and Chinese lilies, filled the air with their fragrance.