ments. What matter if thereafter his life was to be wrecked?
Meanwhile the Mandarin and the Jade Master studied their gems and thought not of the boy and girl who wandered in bliss through the garden. In fact it was seldom that the Mandarin thought of his daughter at all. Certainly she was not of an elegance to be classed with pearls or emeralds. It was a regrettable incident that she had not been a son, a son who could carry on the tradition of his father in a grand manner. Women were not worth the deep consideration of any man, certainly not that of the renowned Mandarin. Sing-song girls to cause meals to be pleasurable were all right. Broadly speaking they were not human. They were merely spices to add piquancy to a feast. But a daughter—it was too bad that he could not have had a son.
Such was the twisted way in which the mind of the Mandarin worked. He could not see that his daughter was lovelier than any flower that grew in the garden. He could not see that
she was a jewel more precious than any poor
