Later.

All the very good people are in bed.  The very worldly minded and the young are on deck reluctantly finishing the last dance under a canopy of make-believe cherry blossoms and wistaria.  I am on the deck between, closing this letter to you which I will mail in Yokohama in a few hours.

In a way I shall be glad to see a quiet room in a hotel and hie me back to simple living, free from the responsibilities of a temporary parent.  I am not promising myself any gay thrills in the meantime.  What ’s the use, with Jack on the borderland of a sulphurous country and you in the Garden of Eden?  His letters and yours will be my greatest excitement.  So write and keep on writing and never fear that I will not do the same.  You are the safety-valve for my speaking emotions, Mate; so let that help you bear it.

Please mark with red ink one small detail of Sada’s story.  When I was fastening her simple white gown for the dance her chatter was like that of a sunny-hearted child.  Indeed, she liked to dance.  Susan did not think it harmful.  She said if your heart was right your feet would follow.  When Miss West could spare her she always went to parties with Billy, and oh, how he could dance if he was so big and had red hair.

So! there was a Billy?  I looked in her face for signs.  The way was clear but there was a soft little quiver in her voice that caused me carefully to label the unknown William, and lay him on a shelf for future reference.  Whatever the coming days hold for her, mine has been the privilege of giving the girl three weeks of unclouded happiness.

Outside I hear the little Prince pacing up and down, yielding up his soul to holy meditations.  I ’d be willing to wager my best piece of jade his contemplations are something like a cycle from Nirvana, and closer far to a pair of heavily fringed eyes.  Poor little imitation Buddha!  He is grasping at the moon’s reflection on the water.  Somewhere near I hear Dolly’s soft coo and deep-voiced replies.  But unfinished packing, a bath and coffee are awaiting me.

Dawn is coming, and already through the port hole I see a dot of earth curled against the horizon.  Above floats Fuji, the base wrapped in mists, the peak eternally white, a giant snowdrop swinging in a dome of perfect blue.  The vision is a call to prayer, a wooing of the soul to the heights of undimmed splendor.

After all, Mate, I may give you and Jack a glad surprise and justify Sada handing me that letter addressed to a Christian Sister.

Yokohama, July, 1911.