We walked the short distance and as we went through the gates I heard the sound of a gong and the strains of that peculiar tinkly offkey Chinese music. When we were ushered in, Chan Cho Lan rose from a cushion to greet us.

I recognized the fragrance of jasmine and frangipani as she swayed before us—beauty in person. Her robe was of pale lilac color embroidered with gold; her lovely hair was held up by jeweled pins and the delicate coloring of her face was exquisite.

Adam towered above her and she bowed low to him. Then they closed their hands and lifted them two or three times towards their heads.

Adam said: “Haou? Tsing Tsing.”

“Tsing Tsing,” murmured Chan Cho Lan.

Then she greeted me in the same way.

With Adam walking beside her she led the way from the reception room into a dining room where a round table was laid with china bowls, china spoons, and ivory chopsticks.

Chan Cho Lan and Adam talked together in Cantonese in which Adam seemed very fluent. He sat beside our hostess; and Lottie and I took the places allotted to us. I was surprised that Lottie was included, and I wondered whether Adam had asked for this. He had shown more than once his interest in her, and he had made it very clear how pleased he was that she fitted into my household.

A servant came with hot damp cloths on a tray. We picked them up with tongs and wiped our hands; they were fragrant, smelling of rose water.

Jasmine-scented tea was then brought to us and this was clearly the prelude to the meal. Chan Cho Lan said how much we honored her miserable table and with what happiness she welcomed us. Adam replied on our behalf. He gave the impression that he knew exactly what was expected and that dining in such circumstances was an everyday occurrence with him.

Our hostess studied me with interest. I did great honor to Hong Kong, she said. I was a lady of great importance. Very illustrious. Adam lifted his small cup of tea and gave a toast to two illustrious ladies while Chan Cho Lan lifted her hands and shook her beautiful head from side to side, obviously denying her claim to the description.

“We live close,” said Chan Cho Lan.

“Neighbors,” replied Adam. “Therefore it is good to be neighborly.”

She clearly did not understand and Adam explained to her in Cantonese.

Lottie, silent and awestruck, looked on with a kind of wonder. Adam seemed to have abandoned his usual rather taciturn manner and was quite capable of keeping the conversation going either in Cantonese or the sort of basic English he used with Chan Cho Lan.

When the great bowl came in which was filled with fragments of chicken and duck and we were expected to help ourselves from it, Adam picked out pieces which he fed to Chan Cho Lan implying that he sought the best pieces for her. This was the custom and Lottie did the same for me.

It was very ceremonious and it was fortunate that I was aware of the procedure for there are few places where it is easier to commit a breach of good manners than at a Chinese dinner table. Through the meal from the deem sum, or hors d’oeuvres, through the meat dishes—flavored with lotus seeds and wrapped in the finest dough—to the soup which was made from birds’ nests and the dessert, fruit dipped in a sweet substance that was like toffee, I contrived to do what was expected of me. Toasts were intermittently drunk in shau-shing, a wine distilled from rice. It was sweet and cloying.

“Yam seng,” said Adam and Chan Cho Lan bowed her beautiful head and repeated with him “Yam seng,” as they drained their small porcelain cups.

The rose-scented damp cloths were brought round several times and we wiped our hands; then Chan Cho Lan rose to her feet. Adam took her hand and we fell in behind them while she tottered to another room. Here we sat on pouf-like cushions. There was a dais at one end of the room where musicians were seated.

A gong sounded and dancers came in. I have rarely seen dancers so graceful as those I saw in Chan Cho Lan’s house that day.

The costumes of the dancers were colorful and gay and I quickly realized that there was something symbolic in the dances. They were about lovers and one of the dancers before the dance began would tell us what these movements were meant to portray.

First of all there was the meeting of lovers. Eight young and lovely girls performed this, going through coquettish motions as they approached and retreated. Courtship was portrayed by the girls playing in the fields chasing butterflies. They carried ribbons in their hands and as they danced they released them to form symmetrical shapes; they laughed joyously as they circled and were joined by girls dressed as young men in gay costumes. This was falling in love and the expressions of the dancers ranged from frivolity to seriousness.

Then there was the bridal dance with one graceful girl representing the bride, the other the groom. More dancers—guests at the wedding—performed with joyous abandon.

It stopped when the bridegroom led off his bride and the other dancers fell in behind them.

“Now they live happy ever more,” said Chan Cho Lan.

We clapped our hands and Chan Cho Lan nodded gravely.

“Before you go,” she said, “I wish you see the shrines.”

She was looking at me so I said that I should be delighted.

She bowed and with Adam beside her again led the way along a passage which was lit by lanterns rather similar to those in my house. We came to a door which was covered by brocade. As she opened it, an odor of incense enveloped us. It came from joss sticks burning in the room. An aged man with a long beard, wearing a silk robe which reached to his ankles and with a round hat on his head, bowed to us and stood aside.

There was a hushed air in the room. Then I saw the shrine. It was dazzling; and there dominating it was a statue of Kuan Yin. The goddess was carved in wood and seated on what appeared to be a rocky island. Her beautiful benevolent face smiled at us. Joss sticks burned on the shrine.

“The Goddess of Mercy,” murmured Chan Cho Lan.

“She presides over the shrine,” whispered Adam to me. “And on the walls you see Chan Cho Lan’s ancestors.”

I looked at the paintings of men who all looked alike in their mandarins’ robes with their long beards and hands clasped before them.

I was more interested in the shrine, for around it were etchings portraying the story of the goddess’ life on earth. There she was as a princess being beaten by her father because she refused to marry. In the second picture she was in a nunnery working as a scullery maid. She was seen in various stages of persecution by her wicked father and finally going to paradise. When her father was sick she descended to earth to nurse him. Deified, glorified, she was the goddess to whom all turned in their need.

It was clear that this room with its shrine dedicated to her and Chan Cho Lan’s ancestors was a sacred place and I was surprised that she had allowed us as barbarians to enter it.

We took a ceremonious farewell with much bowing and talk on her side of how miserable the entertainment had been and on ours how unworthy we had been to have been given it, which I must say I found a little irritating. I wanted to thank her and tell her what a wonderful experience it had been and I did so.

As we walked across to The House of a Thousand Lanterns I thought Lottie looked as if she had paid a visit to the paradise of Fō. Yet she was a little sad. I guessed it was because she herself had been brought up in that establishment, yet Chan Cho Lan had never trained her as a dancing girl to entertain her guests, nor had she prepared her for a grand alliance by crippling her feet.

I wondered why. In due course, I promised myself, I would find out.

I talked about it afterwards with Adam.

“Chan Cho Lan seems to be very friendly with you,” I said.

“Our family has been friends with hers for many years and she regards me as the head of ours since Sylvester died. She has quite a history. When she was a child she was chosen to be one of the Emperor’s concubines. He had a great many and some of these were never even seen by the Emperor. To qualify for a concubine a lady must be of noble family. She is sent to the palace and selected for her beauty, grace, and accomplishments. The Emperor does not do the selecting. His mother or his major domo does that. The girls go to the palace at an early age but some of them never have a chance of catching the Emperor’s eyes; they remain in seclusion guarded by eunuchs, always hoping I suppose that the summons will come. It never came for Chan Cho Lan. If it had I am sure the Emperor would have been pleased. It is influence and relations at court who draw their lord’s attention to a girl. In the meantime they live as girls do in a school, and paint on silk and embroider and talk of themselves and what they know of the world—which is precious little—and when they are past their first flush of youth, which is about eighteen years old, they may leave the Emperor’s court and husbands are found for them. Chan Cho Lan was passed to an old mandarin who lived but a year or so after the wedding. Since then she has become a lady of distinction in her own right. Because she was trained in all the graces to charm an Emperor, she decided not to waste her gifts but to bestow them on girls of her choosing. So she took under her wing the selected girls and some she trains to be dancers, as those we have seen today. Others, if they are young enough when they come to her, have their feet bound and are brought up to make good alliances. She assesses the girls and trains them for what she thinks will suit them best. She is a kind of matchmaker or marriage broker, a very profitable business, and it is said that she is one of the richest women in Hong Kong.”