“I don’t know that I should care to go myself,” said Percival, “but I’ll send my man.”

Judson having been despatched, Percival with difficulty refrained from following him.  Mrs. Weston’s solicitude as she hovered between the telephone-booth and the desk was infectious, and he found himself pacing from entrance to entrance, imagining the most calamitous causes for the delay.

It was not until a joyful exclamation from Elise Weston announced the approach of the truants that he drew a deep breath of relief and retired to the reading-room.  He was more than ever resolved not to see Bobby; to her former transgressions was now added the new and unpardonable offense of having made him acutely anxious about her.

He took up an old copy of the “Graphic,” and resolutely read of events that had taken place before he left England.  He even glanced through the pages of the innocuous “Gentlewoman,” and tried to concentrate upon an article entitled “Favorite Fabrics for Autumn.”  In vain were his efforts; every sound from the lobby or the street claimed his instant attention.  At last, when an unmistakable commotion without gave evidence that the Weston party was leaving, he got up, despite himself, and went to the window.

They were all there, Mrs. Weston, Elise, the Scotchman, Andy, and Bobby, all climbing into their jinrikishas in the greatest possible haste and in the highest possible spirits.  One after another the jinrikishas trundled away, until only Bobby’s was left while her runner adjusted his sandal.  Percival saw her turn in her seat and eagerly scan the terrace and the windows of the hotel.  Then suddenly she caught sight of him, and her face broke into a radiant smile as she waved her hand and nodded.

A moment later and his eyes were straining after a figure that was fast disappearing up the bund.  It was a small, alert figure, disturbingly young and sweet and buoyant.  The flying jinrikisha, the hair blowing across her cheek, the scarf that fluttered in the breeze, all suggested flight, and flight to the masculine mind is only another term for pursuit.

He flung down his paper and strode out to the lobby.

“When is the next train for Kioto?” he demanded.

“At ten to-night, sir.”

“Make out my bill, and get my luggage down; I’m leaving on that train.”

“But, sir, you have made no reservation.  You may have to sit up all night.”

“Have you any objections?” asked the Honorable Percival in his most insular manner.

X

ON THE SEARCH

The clerk’s prophecy proved all too true.  Percival and his valet sat all night in a crowded, smoke-dimmed car, between a fat Japanese wrestler and a fatter Buddhist priest, both of whom squatted on their heels and read aloud in monotonous, wailing tones.  The air was close, and the floor was strewn with orange peel, spilt tea, and cigarette ends.  Percival’s fastidious senses were offended as they had never been offended before.  Under ordinary circumstances nothing could have induced him to submit to such discomfort, but the circumstances were not ordinary.