“Yes, but for a man it’s different.”

“Why do you want to see it?  You’re not going there for business, I presume?”

“Why? for curiosity, I suppose.  One hears such a lot of people talk about the Yoshiwara—­”

“For curiosity, that’s right:  and do you really think that women, even clean-minded women, have less curiosity than men?”

Geoffrey Barrington started to laugh at his own discomfiture.

“Reggie, you were always a devil for arguing!” he said.  “At home one would never talk about things like that.”

“There must be a slight difference then between Home and Abroad.  Certain bonds are relaxed.  Abroad, one is a sight-seer.  One is out to watch the appearance and habits of the natives in a semi-scientific mood, just as one looks at animals in the Zoo.  Besides, nobody knows or cares who one is.  One has no awkward responsibilities towards one’s neighbours; and there is little or no danger of finding an intimate acquaintance in an embarrassing position.  In London one lives in constant dread of finding people out.”

“But my wife,” Geoffrey continued, troubled once more, “I can’t imagine—­”

“Mrs. Barrington may be an exception; but take my word for it, every woman, however good and holy, is intensely interested in the lives of her fallen sisters.  They know less about them than we do.  They are therefore more mysterious and interesting to them.  And yet they are much nearer to them by the whole difference of sex.  There is always a personal query arising, ’I, too, might have chosen that life—­what would it have brought me?’ There is a certain compassion, too; and above all there is the intense interest of rivalry.  Who is not interested in his arch-enemy? and what woman does not want to know by what unholy magic her unfair competitor holds her power over men?”

The tennis courts were filling with youths released from offices.  In the court facing them, two young fellows had begun a single.  One of them was a Japanese; the other, though his hair and eyes were of the native breed, was too fair of skin and too tall of stature.  He was a Eurasian.  They both played exceedingly well.  The rallies were long sustained, the drives beautifully timed and taken.  The few unemployed about the courts soon made this game the object of their special attention.

“Who are they?” asked Geoffrey, glad to change the conversation.

“That’s Aubrey Smith, Yae’s brother, one of the best players here, and Viscount Kamimura, who ought to be quite the best; but he has just married, and his wife will not let him play often enough.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Geoffrey, “he was on the ship with us coming out.”

He had not recognised the good-looking young Japanese.  He had not expected to meet him somehow in such a European milieu.  Kamimura had noticed his fellow-traveller, however; and when the set was over and the players had changed sides, he came up and greeted him most cordially.