The girl burst into passionate sobs. The actress, who was evidently accustomed to hearing her compatriots reviled by the white and half-white denizens of Chinatown, laughed—a light, rippling laugh. Her eyes glinted mischievously.

“Since you do not like the Chinese men,” said she, “why do you give yourself to one? And if you care so much for somebody else, why do you not fly to that somebody?”

Bold words for a Chinese woman to utter! But Ah Oi was not as other Chinese women, who all their lives have been sheltered by a husband or father’s care.

The half-white girl stared at her companion.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“This,” said Ah Oi. The fair head and dark head drew near together; and two women passing the door heard whispers and suppressed laughter.

“Ah Oi is up to some trick,” said one.

II

“THE SING SONG WOMAN! THE Sing Song Woman!” It was a wild cry of anger and surprise.

The ceremony of unveiling the bride had just been performed, and Hwuy Yen, the father of Mag-gee, and his friends, were in a state of great excitement, for the unveiled, brilliantly clothed little figure standing in the middle of the room was not the bride who was to have been; but Ah Oi, the actress, the Sing Song Woman.

Every voice but one was raised. The bridegroom, a tall, handsome man, did not understand what had happened, and could find no words to express his surprise at the uproar. But he was so newly wedded that it was not until Hwuy Yen advanced to the bride and shook his hand threateningly in her face, that he felt himself a husband, and interfered by placing himself before the girl.

“What is all this?” he inquired. “What has my wife done to merit such abuse?”

“Your wife!” scornfully exclaimed Hwuy Yen. “She is no wife of yours. You were to have married my daughter, Mag-gee. This is not my daughter; this is an impostor, an actress, a Sing Song Woman. Where is my daughter?”

Ah Oi laughed her peculiar, rippling, amused laugh. She was in no wise abashed, and, indeed, appeared to be enjoying the situation. Her bright, defiant eyes met her questioner’s boldly as she answered:

“Mag-gee has gone to eat beef and potatoes with a white man. Oh, we had such a merry time making this play!”

“See how worthless a thing she is,” said Hwuy Yen to the young bridegroom.

The latter regarded Ah Oi compassionately. He was a man, and perhaps a little tenderness crept into his heart for the girl towards whom so much bitterness was evinced. She was beautiful. He drew near to her.

“Can you not justify yourself?” he asked sadly.

For a moment Ah Oi gazed into his eyes—the only eyes that had looked with true kindness into hers for many a moon.

“You justify me,” she replied with an upward, pleading glance.

Then Ke Leang, the bridegroom, spoke. He said: “The daughter of Hwuy Yen cared not to become my bride and has sought her happiness with another. Ah Oi, having a kind heart, helped her to that happiness, and tried to recompense me my loss by giving me herself. She has been unwise and indiscreet; but the good that is in her is more than the evil, and now that she is my wife, none shall say a word against her.”