I had been living thus more than a year when, one afternoon as I was walking home from Liu Kanghi’s store on Kearney Street, a parcel of silks and floss under my arm, and my little girl trudging by my side, I came face to face with James Carson. “Well, now,” said he, planting himself in front of me, “you are looking pretty well. How are you making out?” I caught up my child and pushed past him without a word. When I reached the Liu house I was trembling in every limb, so great was my dislike and fear of the man who had been my husband. About a week later a letter came to the house addressed to me. It read: 204 BUCHANAN STREET DEAR MINNIE,—If you are willing to forget the past and make up, I am, too. I was surprised to see you the other day, prettier than ever—and much more of a woman. Let me know your mind at an early date. Your affectionate husband, JAMES I ignored this letter, but a heavy fear oppressed me. Liu Kanghi, who called the evening of the day I received it, remarked as he arose to greet me that I was looking troubled, and hoped that it was not the embroidery flowers. “It is the shadow from my big hat,” I answered lightly. I was dressed for going down town with Mrs. Liu who was preparing her eldest daughter’s trousseau. “Some day,” said Liu Kanghi earnestly, “I hope that you will tell to me all that is in your heart and mind.” I found comfort in his kind face. “If you will wait until I return, I will tell you all tonight,” I answered. Strange as it may seem, although I had known Liu Kanghi now for more than a year, I had had little talk alone with him, and all he knew about me was what he had learned from Mrs. Liu; namely, that I was a divorced woman who, when saved from self-destruction, was homeless and starving. That night, however, after hearing my story, he asked me to be his wife. He said: “I love you and would protect you from all trouble. Your child shall be as my own.” I replied: “I appreciate your love and kindness, but I cannot answer you just yet. Be my friend for a little while longer.” “Do you have for me the love feeling?” he asked. “I do not know,” I answered truthfully. Another letter came. It was written in a different spirit from the first and contained a threat about the child. There seemed but one course open to me. That was to leave my Chinese friends. I did. With much sorrow and regret I bade them goodbye, and took lodgings in a part of the city far removed from the outskirts of Chinatown where my home had been with the Lius. My little girl pined for her Chinese playmates, and I myself felt strange and lonely; but I knew that if I wished to keep my child I could no longer remain with my friends.