She continued: “If the husband is dead and there is no money after paying for his burial, it would be folly for the wife to go her husband’s family, since they would certainly attribute his death to her neglect, or to some circumstance which would make her visit to their roof (for more than a very brief time) into a source of recurrent sorrows and memories of the son which they had lost. No, it is in her own father’s house that she should find refuge.” Then she added: “She should find refuge there even if she is so changed that only her own mother recognises her.”
Father Peng observed: “Since her husband is not dead, and since I can hardly imagine that the Emperor, constrained as he is by the presence of a usurper on the throne, would again welcome my insignificant grand-daughter into a household which must be in a difficult situation . . .”
Peng Yeh smiled. “We have, indeed, been discussing something which was beside the point,” he said. “But the affair is unprecedented. The girl is neither married nor unmarried. I considered this as soon as you told me of her secret coming, and decided that the balance lay on the side of her being unmarried. I therefore, since we are by now used to doing without her, looked round for a suitable match—a family to whom I might send the official go-between with the confidence born of social equality.”
The Lady of the Tapestry stirred uneasily. Then, taking courage, she said: “The girl seems happy here. She is useful, and does not constitute a drain on our resources. Her fingers are nimble with needle and loom. After all that she has been through, would it not be possible to leave her here a little longer?”
Father Peng asked: “What does the girl herself say?”
They both stared at him in surprise.
Peng Yeh cried: “But surely you do not expect me to ask my own daughter about her future? No one ever heard of such a thing. To consult her would be to rock the foundations of the Empire. Why, even the Master . . .”
Father Peng interrupted, a little testily: “What Empire? It seems a little unsteady already. And as to the Master, though I have spent a lifetime reading his works and trying to live them, I have found no instruction of his which would urge you to arrange the girl’s future with a view only to your own convenience.
“I have not yet sent the go-between to the Ching family,” Pen Yeh replied.
The Lady of the Tapestry forgot herself enough to interrupt without invitation. “The Chings!” she cried. “Why, I thought that everyone knew that the Chings depended for their revenue on the silk imports from the district of Shu, and that the present fighting has cut that revenue down so far that the Chings have had to borrow money. I do not think . . .”
Peng Yeh, in his turn, interrupted. “I did not desire your opinion of the Chings,” he said. “Money is not everything. Birth . . .”
Father Peng suggested: “Let us hear the girl. We need not be influenced by what she says.”
“Then why ask her?” Peng Yeh complained. “But it would be best to settle this matter, in whatever way, speedily. My wife, you will fetch our daughter.”
The Lady of the Tapestry rose obediently to her feet and went out of the room.
Peng Yeh began: “Really . . .”
Father Peng raised a restraining hand. He said: “Remember the Masters dictum that
Then they both sat silently until the Lady of the Tapestry returned, bringing Winter Cherry with her. The girl remained standing: the Lady of the Tapestry took her seat again.
Peng Yeh began: “You should have greeted us formally, for you can see that it is a formal meeting.”
She replied: “I am sorry that I failed in my duty.”
Father Peng murmured: “
Winter Cherry kotowed.
Peng Yeh said: “I am your father. I wish to hear what you have to say about a matter which concerns you.”
Winter Cherry replied: “You know, my father, what is best. It is not for me to have any opinions . . .”
Father Peng interrupted again: “Girl, it is of no avail to behave as you think we expect you to behave. If a girl leaves her home and goes to the Capital—if she has the honour of the Emperor’s presence—if her days are full of glitter and poetry, of rich food and unaccustomed manners—it is not possible for her to return to her parents and say ‘I have no opinions’.”
She answered: “Sir, I did not say that. I said that it was not for me to have opinions.”
Peng Yeh cried: “Why quibble about words?”
The Lady of the Tapestry observed under her breath: “Because words have meanings.”