So at half-past nine we drove to a theatre.  The performance began at ten o’clock and continued till one in the morning, with a break in the middle for supper.

It was a light musical farce, well acted and sung, and I enjoyed it.

Suzee looked on profoundly silent, and seemed to be quite wide-awake all through it.  Just before one o’clock she leant to me and whispered: 

“When does the killing begin?”

“Killing?” I returned.  “I don’t think there’ll be any, what do you mean?”

“Oh,” she said, “in Chinese theatres there is always very much killing; every one’s head comes off at the end.”

I laughed.

“You little monster,” I whispered; “is that what you came to see?” Suzee nodded.

“All Chinese plays like that,” she answered.

We waited till the curtain fell, but there was no killing and all the heads were left on at the end.  Suzee looked quite disappointed, and explained to me as we were driving away that that was no play at all.

The next morning we were up very late, and after breakfast in our room there was only time to drive out to the shops and buy for Suzee one of the hats she coveted before luncheon.

All Orientals have a wonderful, artistic instinct for fabrics and colours, and always, when left alone, clothe themselves with exquisite taste.  But this instinct seems to desert them when brought amongst European manufactures and into the sphere of European tints.  Suzee now chose an enormous white hat wreathed round with poppies and cornflowers that I certainly should not have chosen for her.  However, it pleased and satisfied her, and she was in great good-humour in consequence.

I found some letters for me at the hotel, forwarded from the club.  My heart sank as I saw there was none from Viola.  I thought she might have written again....

There was one from a friend of mine who was attached to the embassy here, and he asked me to go and dine with him that evening, or name some other, if I were engaged that day.

I looked up at Suzee.

“I have an invitation here to go out to dinner,” I said to her; “do you think you can amuse yourself without me this evening?”

Suzee looked sulky.

“You are going out all the evening without me?  Can’t I come too?”

“I am afraid not,” I answered.

“Why?  Is it a woman you are going to?”

“No, it is not,” I answered a little sharply.

How different this sulky questioning was from Viola’s bright way of assenting to any possible suggestion of mine for my own amusement or benefit!

How different from this her quick: 

“Oh yes, do go, Trevor, do not think about me, I shall be quite happy looking forward to your coming back!”

Suzee pushed out her lips.

“How long will you be?” she asked.

“I shall go just before seven and return about ten,” I answered.  “You must get accustomed to amusing yourself.  I can’t always be with you.”