"As for me, I can't go out," Pao-yue shouted. "But whatever you do, pray,
don't ask aunt to come in here." "Cousin Lin," he went on to say, "do
stay on a while; I've got something to tell you."

Lady Feng overheard him. Turning her head towards Lin Tai-yue, "There's
some one," she cried; "who wants to speak to you." And forthwith laying
hold of Lin Tai-yue, she pushed her back and then trudged away, along
with Li Kung-ts'ai.

During this time, Pao-yue clasped Tai-yue's hand in his. He did nothing
than smile. But not a word did he utter. Tai-yue naturally, therefore,
got crimson in the face, and struggled to escape his importunities.

"Ai-ya!" exclaimed Pao-yue. "How my head is sore!"

"It should be!" rejoined Tai-yue. "O-mi-to-fu."

Pao-yue then gave vent to a loud shout. His body bounced three or four
feet high from the ground. His mouth was full of confused shrieks. But
all he said was rambling talk.

Tai-yue and the servant-girls were full of consternation, and, with all
possible haste, they ran and apprised Madame Wang and dowager lady Chia.

Wang Tzu-t'eng's wife was, at this time, also with them, so they all
came in a body to see him. Pao-yue behaved more and more as if determined
to clutch a sword or seize a spear to put an end to his existence. He
raged in a manner sufficient to subvert the heavens and upset the earth.