know she would not oppose my will. So why should we not get married at
once?"

Soon afterwards, Chang had to go to the capital. Before starting, he
tenderly informed her of his departure. She did not reproach him, but
her face showed pitiable distress. On the night before he started, he
was not able to see her.

After spending a few months in the west, Chang returned to Puchow and
again lodged for several months in the same building as the Ts`uis. He
made many attempts to see Ying-ying alone, but she would not let him do
so. Remembering that she was fond of calligraphy and verse, he
frequently sent her his own compositions, but she scarcely glanced at
them.

It was characteristic of her that when any situation was at its acutest
point, she appeared quite unconscious of it. She talked glibly, but
would seldom answer a question. She expected absolute devotion, but
herself gave no encouragement.

Sometimes when she was in the depth of despair, she would affect all the
while to be quite indifferent. It was rarely possible to know from her
face whether she was pleased or sorry.

One night Chang came upon her unawares when she was playing on the harp,
with a touch full of passion. But when she saw him coming, she stopped
playing. This incident increased his infatuation.

Soon afterwards, it became time for him to compete in the Literary
Examinations, and he was obliged once more to set out for the western
capital.

The evening before his departure, he sat in deep despondency by Ts`ui's
side, but did not try again to tell her of his love. Nor had he told her
that he was going away, but she seemed to have guessed it, and with
submissive face and gentle voice, she said to him softly: "Those whom a
man leads astray, he will in the end abandon. It must be so, and I will
not reproach you. You deigned to corrupt me and now you deign to leave
me. That is all. And your vows of 'faithfulness till death'--they too
are cancelled. There is no need for you to grieve at this parting, but
since I see you so sad and can give you no other comfort--you once
praised my harp-playing; but I was bashful and would not play to you.
Now I am bolder, and if you choose, I will play you a tune."

She took her harp and began the prelude to "Rainbow Skirts and Feather
Jackets."[7] But after a few bars the tune broke off into a wild and
passionate dirge.

[7] A gay, court tune of the eighth century.

All who were present caught their breath; b