She stood behind her and watched attentively while Megan brushed her hair into shape till it fitted her head like a thin dark cap. Then she and the amah dressed her in a stiff coat of sulphur-yellow brocade with a little Chinese collar and loose sleeves, the hybrid dress of the treaty port. The amah put silk stockings on her feet and slippers of satin, very pointed, with soft felt soles, a little too small for comfort. The lady offered her the use of various powders, eye pencils and lipsticks of French make, in all colors--almond, rose, blue lilac and geranium--but Megan refused. When they had finished with her she looked at herself, and the amah and the lady peered over her shoulder into the glass. The long white face and eyes heavily shadowed, the body enclosed in a rigid tube of shining yellow, gave her a hieratic, Byzantine look. When the food came she ate ravenously, and the lady sat beside her, her shell-like hands crossed neatly in her lap. "That is very good, that will make you strong again," she said. "Yes, it is delicious. I feel strong already." "I am so glad you are well again," and she added, "The General wants to know when you are feeling well enough to receive him. He wants to talk to you." The faint chill she felt at these words surprised Megan. She looked about her. This room with the old painting, the blossoming plum, the garden outside, herself in a costume for a fantastic portrait, these were all still vaguely dreamlike. The General would instantly introduce the note of reality and of struggle. She felt a reluctance to take up life again. But she forced a little enthusiasm, because the whole significance of things now lay in the General's being, in a sense, delivered into her hands. "I suppose I feel well enough now, but don't go yet," she added hastily, as the lady made a movement of rising. "Do stay and talk to me. Tell me your name so that I will know what to call you." The lady sat back again, folding her hands in her lap with the instant acquiescence of one accustomed to obey. "My name is Mah-li," she said. "Doctor Strike told me he had known you years ago in Soochow and that you were brought up in a Mission school. Is that so?" Mah-li's eyes opened a little wider. "_Aiya!_ So you were with Doctor Strike, who wanted the body-guard!" And she looked at Megan with an obvious wonder. Apparently she could not imagine what had made Megan go into Chapei but was too courteous to press the point, and Megan thought that to tell her it was to rescue some women and children from the inhumanity of her countrymen would be rude and slightly ridiculous. She felt already that her relations with Mah-li would have to be conducted with more care than she had so far been accustomed to expend on any one. There was a line stretched between them that it was imperative neither should cross, but whereas Mah-li saw the line clearly, Megan did not.