A little Chinese woman whom I knew rather well said to me later, "And think of it--only last year in this house we should have been at separate tables!" When I asked her to explain, she said that once men did not bring their guests to their homes at all. Then they brought them, but entertained them in the men's side of the house. Later they admitted women to dine in the same room, but at separate tables, and now, here we are, chatting and dining together quite in Western fashion. "I like this much better," the little lady decided. I was glad to see that all of them wore Chinese dress, for it is most impressively beautiful. I wore my first jacket and plaited skirt that night, a combination of pale green and black satin, and now and then I would see Chan-King's eyes turned upon me with the look I best loved to see there--a clear, warm affection shining in them, a certain steady glow of expression that had love and friendship and understanding in it. I think the sight of me in the dress of his country confirmed in his mind my declaration that I loved China--that I wanted to be a real Chinese wife. After this, though for certain occasions the American fashion seemed more appropriate, I wore Chinese dress a great deal. I remember a day when Dr. Wu Ting-fang came to dinner, and, as he bowed to me, obviously took note of my garb. He looked at me very keenly for a moment, as if he meant to ask a serious question. Then he said, in his abrupt manner, "You are happy in that dress?" "Indeed I am," I answered. "You like it better than you like American clothes?" he persisted. I nodded firmly, smiling and catching my husband's eye. "Then wear it always," said the Doctor, with a pontifical lifting of his fingers. Oddly enough, my husband did not care for the native feminine fashion of trousers and never permitted me to wear them. I considered them very graceful and comfortable, but gladly adopted the severely plain skirts with the plaits at the sides.