The afternoon dragged miserably, and the prospect of waiting about the hotel until the steamer sailed at noon the next day appalled him.  The obvious thing, of course, was to go out and see the city, but he had declared to Judson that there was nothing worth seeing, and one must be consistent before one’s servants.  Even the morrow offered no abatement to his misery.  Most of the people he knew were going from Yokohama to Kobe by rail, and he pictured himself the only guest at the captain’s table for three mortal days.

At three o’clock he went down to the terrace and took his seat at a small table that commanded a view of the hotel entrance.  To one with a free mind the scene was highly diverting, with jinrikishas and occasional victorias thronging the bund, and gay parties constantly arriving and departing.  Coolies in blue, with mysterious Chinese lettering on their kimonos and with bright towels about their heads, trotted past; women with blackened teeth and with babies strapped on their backs clattered by on wooden shoes; street venders sang their savory wares; merchants displayed treasures of lacquer and ivory, street dancers posed and sang to the tinkle of the samisen.

But to Percival it was at best a purgatory where he seemed to be doomed to wait through eternity.  Not that he meant to speak to Bobby Boynton when she arrived or make the slightest sign of forgiveness.  That she should have allowed Andy Black to keep her out from eleven in the morning until after three in the afternoon was even more shocking than her behavior to him the night before.  He was resolved to show her by every means in his power that to even a disinterested acquaintance like himself her conduct was wholly unpardonable.  Meanwhile that emotion to which the captain had so grossly alluded took entire and absorbing possession of him.

Toward the middle of the afternoon Mrs. Weston joined him on the terrace in an anxious mood.

“Have you seen anything of that naughty Bobby Boynton?” she asked.  “I am quite distracted about her.  Our train for Kioto leaves in half an hour.  You don’t suppose anything has happened to her, do you?”

“I really can’t say,” said Percival, with a shrug that suggested the direst possibilities.

“We simply must go on to Kioto tonight,” continued Mrs. Weston, anxiously nervous.  “My cousin would never forgive me if I disappointed him.  You see, he’s lived in Kioto for years, and he’s promised to take us out to an old Buddhist temple on a wonderful sacred mountain that I can’t pronounce.  We’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

Percival stood back of his chair and watched his tea getting cold.  The suggestion of something having happened to Bobby had changed his anger to sharp solicitude.  Gruesome tales of brutality toward foreigners in Eastern ports came back to him.

“I wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, persuasively, “if you would mind taking a jinrikisha and going down to Benten Dori to see if they are there.  I have no one else to send.”