“I hear you are already married,” said Geoffrey.  “Our best congratulations!”

“Thank you,” replied Kamimura, blushing.  Japanese blush readily in spite of their complexion.

“We Japanese must not boast about our wives.  It is what you call Bad Form.  But I would like her to meet Mrs. Barrington.  She speaks English not so badly.”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I hope you will come and dine with us one evening at the Imperial.”

“Thank you very much,” answered the young Viscount.  “How long are you staying in Japan?”

“Oh, for some months.”

“Then we shall meet often, I hope,” he said, and returned to his game.

“A very decent fellow; quite human,” Reggie commented.

“Yes, isn’t he?” said Geoffrey; and then he asked suddenly,—­

“Do you think he would take his wife to see the Yoshiwara?”

“Probably not; but then they are Japanese people living in Japan.  That alters everything.”

“I don’t think so,” said Geoffrey; and he was conscious of having scored off his friend for once.

Miss Yae Smith had arrived on her daily visit to the courts.  She was already surrounded by a little retinue of young men, who, however, scattered at Reggie’s approach.

Miss Yae smiled graciously on the two new-comers and inquired after Mrs. Barrington.

“It was so nice to talk with her the other day; it was like being in England again.”

Yes, Miss Yae had been in England and in America too.  She preferred those countries very much to Japan.  It was so much more amusing.  There was so little to do here.  Besides, in Japan it was such a small world; and everybody was so disagreeable; especially the women, always saying untrue, unkind things.

She looked so immaterial and sprite-like in her blue kimono, her strange eyes downcast as her habit was when talking about herself and her own doings, that Geoffrey could think no evil of her, nor could he wonder at Reggie’s gaze of intense admiration which beat upon her like sunlight on a picture.

However, Asako must be waiting for him.  He took his leave, and returned to his hotel.

* * * * *

Asako had been entertaining a visitor.  She had gone out shopping for an hour, not altogether pleased to find herself alone.  On her return, a Japanese gentleman in a vivid green suit had risen from a seat in the lounge of the hotel, and had introduced himself.

“I am Ito, your attorney-of-law.”

He was a small, podgy person with a round oily face and heavy voluted moustaches.  The expression of his eyes was hidden behind gold-rimmed spectacles.  It would have been impossible for a European to guess his age, anything between twenty-five and fifty.  His thick, plum-coloured hair was brushed up on his forehead in a butcher-boy’s curl.  His teeth glittered with dentist’s gold.  He wore a tweed suit of bright pea-soup colour, a rainbow tie and yellow boots.  Over the bulge of an egg-shaped stomach hung a massive gold watch-chain blossoming into a semi-heraldic charm, which might be a masonic emblem or a cycling club badge.  His breastpocket appeared to hold a quiverful of fountain-pens.