Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1918)

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The FORBIDDEN CITY WONG LI was a very wise man — Wong Li, the father of San San. He believed as other wise men had and did that "East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet." But what know the wise, who must be old to have attained their wisdom, of pounding heart and pulsing blood, of blushing cheek and quickening breath; what knows age of the fire of youth calling to fire of youth? Wong Li, the learned, droning over his books, dreaming dreams of the days gone by, laying sly plans for days to come, little knew of the love that was blooming among the cherry blossoms of his garden; little -„^_ did he know of the love that sang ^**" y.«rx "East and West shall never meet," believed Wong Li, the Wise. But, Toy, daughter of San San, learned there was a greater — kindlier — law. By Betty Shannon Then a shadow crossed their hearts. . . . . John Worden knew his marriage with a Chinese girl would bring ostracism from his own people. woven tray. When she to the was eyes was and sighed beneath the willows and beside the crystal pond, Wong Li had once been a mandarin, ruling over a rich province in southern China. He had served wisely and faithfully the old Emperor. But courtiers, jealous of his wealth and power, had plotted his downfall. In his old age he was forced to seek refuge in a tiny house in an old garden on the outskirts of Hong Kong. Here he gathered about him foreigners desirous of learning the Chinese language, who paid him enough to keep him and his daughter San San in modest comfort. It was contrary to all the traditions of Wong Li's race that San San and John Worden, the stalwart young undersecretary to the American consul, should have met at all. But as the American came day after day, and Wong Li found that he was highminded and honest, he decided it was no longer necessary to keep San San in the background. So one day, as the men pondered their lesson, she tip-toed shyly in bearing fragrant tea on a raised her soft face m of John sure that he had so wonderful before, like the wooing of almond eyes Worden, he never seen Her voice wood doves. Her deftness at handling the bright fragile tea cups filled him with awe. Never in his clean young life had he seen so sweetly alluring! a creature as the Chinese maid. And San San! Had Wong Li noted the trembling of the slim fingers that handed him his tea, the blush on the rounded cheek, the new depths in the shining brown eyes, he would have sent her back to the solitude of her room without adieu. But Wong Li was a wise man and he was wrapt about in his wisdom. San San was to him a child. So he praised her tea, and let her walk in the garden with John Worden while he received another pupil. It was not long until love had come to San San and John Worden, and had found expression in queer, faltering, but unmistakable, language. It 49