“Yeh Ling? Yes--queer bird. An educated Chink--got a son who is quite a swell scholar by Chinese standards. He ought to make a good story some day; that house he is building at Storford--it is on the way to Hertford; says that one day his son will be the Chinese Ambassador here and he wants him to have a house worthy of his position. That is what he told Stott. Know Stott? He is a dud architect who knows it all. Weird little devil who looks as if he might have been clever with a different kind of brain. Stott laid out the ground work, sort of Chinese temple with two enormous concrete pillars that are going to stand half-way down the drive. The Pillar of Cheerful Memories and the Pillar of Grateful Hearts. That’s what he is going to call them. Stott thought it was heathenish and wondered if the Bishop would like it. Yes, you ought to see that place, Tab. No, it isn’t built. Yeh Ling has nothing but Chink labour. The Secretary of the Builders’ Union went to see him about it. Yeh Ling said his ancestors had a union of their own which put the bar upon non-Taoist labour. Taoism----” “I hate to wade into the foaming torrent of your eloquence,” said Tab gently, “but how did you come to meet Stott?” “Same lodge,” said Jacques. “It is not for me to talk down a brother craftsman--are you one of us by-the-way?” Tab shook his head. “Ought to be. Get a little respect for authority into your system. As I was saying, I don’t want to knock Stott, but he’s not everybody’s meat. Go and see that temple or whatever it is, Tab. Might be a good story.” On the first idle day he had, Tab took his motor bicycle and went out to Storford. He was not entirely without hope that he would see Ursula--her house was only seven miles beyond Storford Hill, and he had reason to know that she had withdrawn herself to her country home. In a letter telling this she had told him in so many words that when she wanted him she would send for him. He saw the building from a distance. He had noticed it before--it was hardly possible to miss seeing it, for it stood on the crest of one of the few hills the country boasted. The walls were half finished and heavy wooden uprights rose like the palings of a fence above the queerly laid courses. And one of the pillars already lifted its lofty head. It flanked on one side a broad pathway which was half the width of the house, and stood some fifty feet above the ground, being crowned by a small stone dragon. Tab wondered if this was the Pillar of Grateful Hearts or that which stood, or would stand, for cheerful memories. Its diameter must have been fully five feet. Near at hand was one of the wooden moulds in which it was cast, and a Chinese workman was scraping the interior.