When the company were mounted, and trooping downhill through the camphor
shadow, Heywood's pony came sidling against Rudolph's, till legging
chafed legging.

"You blossomed, old boy," he whispered. "Quite the star, after your
comedy turn." He reined aside, grinning. "What price sympathy on
a pagoda?"

For that moment, Rudolph could have struck down the one sure friend he
had in China.



CHAPTER VII


IPHIGENIA

"Don't chop off a hen's head with a battle-axe." Heywood, still with a
malicious, friendly quirk at the corners of his mouth, held in his
fretful pony. Rudolph stood bending a whip viciously. They two had
fetched a compass about the town, and now in the twilight were parting
before the nunnery gate. "A tiff's the last thing I'd want with you. The
lady, in confidence, is not worth--"

"I do not wish," declared Rudolph, trembling,--"I do not wish you to say
those things, so!"

"Right!" laughed the other, and his pony wheeled at the word. "I'll give