“I am learning to shoot. Forgive this inconsequence, but my butler (how grand that sounds!) is very insistent, and I practice every day in the meadows behind the house. I had no idea that a revolver was so very heavy or jumped so when you pressed the trigger, and the noise is appalling! I was scared almost to death the first day of the practice, but I am getting quite used to it now and Turner says I shall make a crack shot. “If you come you will not lack for excitement. Personally I should have preferred that Turner would have given me lessons in archery; it is much more graceful and ladylike. Every time the pistol fires (it is an automatic) it blackens my hands horribly--and it stings!” Tab read the letter through very many times before he took the Hertford Road. He stopped en route to admire the monument which Yeh Ling had erected to his prosperity. He could admire in all sincerity, for the house presented not only a striking, but a beautiful appearance. Its unusual lines, the quaint setting in which it stood, for the garden had now taken shape, the one lusty pillar that flanked the broad yellow path, made a striking picture. The workmen had not gone and presently he spied Yeh Ling himself coming down the broad short flight of steps from the upper terrace. If he did not distinguish him at first, it was excusable, for he wore the blue blouse and baggy trousers of his workmen, but Yeh Ling had seen him and came straight to where he was standing. “You’ve nearly finished,” said Tab with a smile of greeting. “I congratulate you, Yeh Ling.” “You think it is pretty,” said Yeh Ling, in his grave, cultured voice. “I have had the best builder I could get from China and I have not stinted him. Some day perhaps you will come and see the interior.” “What are they doing now?” asked Tab. “In a few days we shall cast a second pillar,” said Yeh Ling, “and then the work is finished. You think I am at heart a barbarian?” Yeh Ling seldom smiled, but now his pale lips curled momentarily, “and you will take these pillars as proof?” “I wouldn’t say that--” began Tab. “Because you are so polite, Mr. Holland,” said Yeh Ling, “but then you see, we look at things from a different angle. I think your church steeples are ridiculous! Why is it necessary to stick a great stone spike on to a building to emphasise your reverence?” He searched in his blouse and brought out a gold cigarette case, and offered it to Tab. Then he lit a cigarette himself, inhaled deeply before he sent a blue cloud into the still air. “My Pillar of Grateful Memories will have a greater significance than all your steeples,” he said, “than all your stained glass windows. It is to me what your War Memorial Crosses are to you, a concrete symbol (literally concrete) of an intangible sentiment.” “You are a Taoist?” asked Tab interested. Yeh Ling shrugged his shoulders.