gs.

"My father," explained Miss Vost. "He was stationed at Wenchow then,
in charge of the mission. I have not seen him since."

Peter remarked to himself that somehow Miss Vost did not seem to be the
daughter of a missionary, nor was the costly way she dressed in key
with her remark. Perhaps she divined his thoughts.

"He has money--lots of it. He has a keen, broad mind. But he chose
this. When he was first married be brought mother to China. He saw,
and realized, China's vast problems. And he stayed. He wanted to
help."

Peter gazed into her gray eyes, which seemed to take on a clear violet
tinge when she was deeply moved.

"He told me to come to see him because he was growing old. I stopped
off in Amoy," said Miss Vost with a ghost of a smile. "A young
missionary he wanted me to meet lives there. I met him. But I could
not admire that young missionary. He was a--a _poseur_. He was
pretending. One reason I like you, Mr. Moore, is because you're so
sincere. He was so transparent. And his 'converts' saw through him,
too. They were bread-and-butter converts. They listened to him; they
devoured his food--then they went to the fortune-tellers! Father could
not have known Doctor Sanborn longer than a few minutes--or else he's
not the father that he used to be! I inherit his love for sincerity.
I--I'm sure he will like you!"

"But--but----" stammered Peter--"I don't expect to go to Wenchow.
Better say he'd like--Bobbie!"

"Oh, he'd like anybody that I liked," Miss Vost said lightly.
"It--it's really interesting, you know, from Ching-Fu to Wenchow. We
take bullock carts--if we can find them. Otherwise we walk. Doesn't
it--appeal to you--just a little--to be all alone with me for nearly a
hundred miles?"

"Very much indeed," replied Peter earnestly. "But our roads part--at
Ching-Fu. I go directly south."

"In search of more adventure and romance? Perhaps--perhaps a girl who
is not so silly as I have been? Or--is it India--or Afghanistan?"

"Neither. An old friend!"

"Is that why you are growing a beard--to surprise--_him_?"

"Perhaps," said Peter, absently fingering the bristles. "Don't tell me
it's unbecoming or I'll have to shave it off!"

"As if what I thought made a particle of difference!" retorted Miss
Vost defiantly.

Peter gave her a thoughtful, a puzzled stare. "I overheard you last
night. You broke your promise. You promised to be nice to him."

"I was. Do you me