“I can understand that,” he said, bending for a better look at my face.  “But what could the dainty senoritas see in these crude; raw-boned Yankees?”

“Just what any woman would see,” I declared.  “Men of sterling character, working against terrible odds, with that courage which does not know the word failure.  They saw men of perseverance, energy and brains who were bringing into the country the indomitable spirit of New England.”

“I am glad you have a good word for the early Yankees,” he said, “and I wish your enthusiasm extended to a later generation.”

He turned toward me and I felt the telltale color sweep my cheeks as I became conscious that I was thinking less of Leese and his compatriots than of the Bostonian at my side.

“It wasn’t the New England spirit,” he declared, “that gave these early settlers the strength and determination to succeed.  It was the women who had faith in them.  A man can accomplish anything if the woman he loves—­ " My companion had moved close to my side, and his voice was low as he bent over me.  “Little girl,” he began, “last year in Boston when you came into my life—­”

The harsh jangle of a Chinese orchestra broke the dull murmur of the street and in an instant the little balcony was crowded with gazers eager to catch a glimpse of the musicians through the windows opposite.

My companion and I moved aside for the new corners and turned again toward the interior.  Through the open door we could see the waiter placing steaming cups of tea upon the table we had deserted, and re-entering the room, we seated ourselves in the big carved arm-chairs.  Sipping the delicious beverage, we glanced toward the other tables, where groups of Chinamen were talking in a curious jargon and dexterously handling the thin ebony chop-sticks.  On the wide matting-covered couches extending along the sidewalls, lounged sallow-faced Orientals, while in and out among the diners noiselessly moved the waiters, balancing on their heads, large brown straw trays.  Snowy rice cakes, shreds of candied cocoanut, preserved ginger and brown paper-shell nuts with the usual Chinese eating utensils were placed before us.  We tried the slender chop-sticks with laughable failure and then, declaring that fingers were made first, we had no further trouble.  We took a farewell look at the gilt carved screens and long banners, which in quaint Chinese characters wished us health and happiness.  Then following our smiling attendant to the door, we were bowed down the stairway.  A Chinaman leaned over the railing and called the amount of our bill to the attendant on the second floor, who like an echo took it up and sent it on to the main entrance, where we settled our account.

Again on the sidewalk, we mingled with the Oriental throng whose expressionless yellow faces gave no hint of joy or sorrow.  At the corner we turned east and made our way toward Portsmouth Square.  I paused and let my eyes run over my companion, from his emaculate linen collar to his well-polished shoes.