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The meeting by the wayside befell as he had received assurance they who serve the Triad do not stumble and at the appointed time he stood before Tiao's door and called for admission. He looked to the right and the left as one who examines a new prospect, and among the azalea flowers the burnished roof of the summer-house glittered in the sun.
Wu Chi acknowledged no memory of a son; he could claim no reverence as a father. . . . Tiao's husband. . . . Then he was doubly childless. . . . The woman and her seed had withered, as he had prophesied. On the one hand stood the Society, powerful enough to protect him in every extremity, yet holding failure as treason; most terrible and inexorable towards set disobedience.
Friends whom he encountered he saluted distantly, not desirous of sharing their affection until they should have learned his state; but there was one who stood in his mind as removed above the possibility of change, and to the summer-house of Tiao's home he therefore turned his steps. Tiao was the daughter of a minor official, an unsuccessful man of no particular descent.
Tiao's spoken word fully settled his determination, so that without delay he set himself to the task of composing a story which should omit the usual sentence, but should contain instead a large number of his most graceful and diamond-like thoughts.
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