He hesitated, and obviously tried to evade the answering.

"No, she won't like it," he admitted finally as though he could not help it. And then again, as though under compulsion of her silence, "She does n't like me to be with any other girls. I never do if I can help it."

"Oh," she said sorrowfully, "I 'm so sorry to be making trouble for you!"

"It won't make very much trouble, or it won't last very long. And, besides," he added strangely, "I don't care. I shall keep the memory of this. It has been beautiful." He paused, then there came from him in a rush: "She does n't like a lot of things I do. Boxing! She thinks there's no class to boxing.' He stared at her in helpless question. "She does n't want me to go to the gym any more. What you said about marriage-liking everything the other one wants to do, we 're not like that."

She took the necklace of topazes from her neck.

"Give her this," she ordered, "and tell her they are from a friend."

Obedient, he took the necklace and stood a little dazed, looking at it.

Then the telephone rang and he vanished down the stairs. She stood very straight and tense in the position in which he left her.

"It 's your husband," he said. "He was knocked down by an automobile while you were in the store. He 's all right," he added swiftly as her face contorted. "He's on the way now in a taxi. He'll be here in a minute; they took him into

a house just a few blocks away. He told me to tell you that he was all right." "What time is it?" she asked. "Well," he admitted, "I 've been lying to you all the evening, telling you it was earlier than it was; I was so afraid you 'd worry. It's nearly seven."

He helped her on with her rubbers, her scarf, her long cape. He handed her her hat-pins one at a time as she stood before the glass adjusting her hat.

Finally she turned, held out both hands. "Good-by, my dear boy!" she said. "For you are only a boy, but a dear, dear boy. Tell me your name."

He told her his name.

Quite simply, but still holding his hands, she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.

"You dear!" she said tenderly.

Then the door-bell rang. "Good-by, boy," she said, and ran down the stairs.

ALONE, he took up the picture in the silver frame. He looked at it for a long time, his face expressionless; but he kept shifting it into different lights, turning it at different angles. It was as though he was studying it feverishly from a new point of view. It was as though he was searching it frantically for something he had lost. He did not find it, for finally he dropped it, face downward on the chiffonier, and his features broke in something like panic. He controlled that in an instant; then very slowly he walked through the hall to the bath-room, turned on the water in the tub, took out his razor, began methodically to strop it.

THE

HE conscience of an ordinary man would not leave him sane with a record of murdered men such as marks the trail of Yüan Shi-kai to the dragon throne, and yet the fact is not disputed by disinterested observers that China is better off for having him as absolute autocrat. Not all that he does is with the greatest wisdom or the full measure of generosity that conditions would permit; but there is no other Chinese leader to whom dictatorship could so well be intrusted, and a republic for that stricken country is entirely out of the question.

Can one expect the virtues of republican citizenship in a country where ninety per cent. of its four hundred millions of people live and rear families on precarious incomes of about three dollars a month? I repeat-three dollars, lest it be thought that the words are a misprint. Of course a dollar buys more rice in China than it

does in the United States, but not enough to prevent the average being from going through life with the permanent sensation of hunger. Can one expect enlightenment and patriotism in a community as wretched as this? It is wonderful, in the circumstances, that the Chinese possess any ideas of democracy and heroism. Patriotism they do not, as a race, understand.

No one but a man willing to slaughter ruthlessly could govern in a country like China, and Yüan is willing to rule. In official mandates, soon to become imperial edicts, he follows to a certain extent the Chinese custom of humility, speaking constantly of his incapacity and unworthiness; but it is evident that he believes in himself. Like any other great man, he knows his own weaknesses, but similarly he knows his capabilities. One feels these

things in his presence. With the average Chinese I find myself talking a false,

The only public picture of the ex-prince regent and his son, the boy emperor, who still resides in his palace in Peking, but is seven or eight years older than the picture shows him to be

vately, and conversed with him through one of his immediate aids, Admiral Tsai Ting-kan, as interpreter. There was one event of remarkable note at which I was present, and the photographer who accompanied me is the only other foreigner who has ever witnessed the ceremony. This was the worship at the Altar of Heaven on the occasion of the winter solstice.

It is impossible not to suspect that Yüan visits the Temple of Heaven because of the prestige he derives from performing the ceremony, hitherto performed successively for centuries by emperors who styled themselves Son of Heaven. For he also approves and assists other religious bodies

at work in China; he helps Buddhists, Christian missionaries, and Confucianists, both those who worship the great sage and those who regard him only as a master teacher. Yüan possesses those comprehensive qualities which have made some European monarchs and some American politicians successful.

He is a man of unusual appearance, being physically one of the broadest men I have ever seen. His hearty appetite and his inactive life-for it is only his mind that is vigorous-have given him a great weight of flesh, on top of which, in winter, he piles padded uniforms or fur-lined robes so thick that his arms hang out. He looks about twice as broad and twice as thick as an ordinary man in our style of dress, and this appearance is accentuated by the fact that he is of short stature, being probably only five foot four.

A friend of mine who saw him only once said he had never seen so cruel a countenance; but that was on one of the public occasions when Yüan's life was attempted, and there was excuse for the vindictiveness that appeared in his face. Yüan's battle against the assassin has been constant for the last four years, and at different periods before that time his life was in serious danger. Faithful adherents of his have passed away in one manner or another, the most notable recent case being that of Chao Ping-chun, at one time Yüan's prime minister. The sudden death of Chao, when governor of Chi-li, the metropolitan province, gave rise to the belief that he was the victim of poison.

The

Nor is Yüan guiltless of taking other men's lives. It is probably a correct suspicion, as the story told later in this article will show, that he played a part in the death of the Emperor Kwang-su. record of Li Hung Chang is known, and Yüan came to success under the patronage of that notable statesman. So much for Yüan's earlier career. Since he came to Peking, and incidentally under the writer's observation, heads have been lopped off sometimes by the score a day. No known revolutionary dares appear in the capital; if he does, he will be made pris

Yüan Shi-kai in a military uniform of the Chinese army prior to 1900

lieved by many, not only Yüan's adversaries, to have been committed with pal ace approval. On one occasion two men came from Hankow with letters of recom

Yüan Shi-kai in modern military uniform

mendation from the vice-president to the president approving them for office. Possessing these credentials, they evidently believed themselves safe. Nevertheless, they lived in a hotel within the legation quarter. One night after dinner they were enticed out beyond the protection of the foreign police, were at once seized, and shot in the streets. It was always supposed that when Yüan's own bodyguard mutinied and looted and burned parts of Peking, in February, 1912, they had been let loose with the deliberate object of demonstrating to the Republicans that Yüan's presence in Peking was essential. The Republicans had been insisting, as a condition of laying down their arms, that he appear before the Parliament at Nanking. After the mutiny of Yüan's troops, scores of innocent coolies were decapitated beneath the principal pagodas in Peking,