Occasionally there shot through Jane’s mind a real thought, as luminous as a shaft of light through a jar of honey.  I would have never guessed the name of that city.

“Then what else happened?” she continued, as eagerly as a young girl hearing a love story.

I told her it had not happened yet, and before it did I was going to call at the house and see the girl as I had promised and settle upon the hour she was to come for daily lessons.  Meantime Jane was to take her nap, her milk, and her tonic without my standing over her.  In her devotion to her profession she was apt to forget the small details of eating and resting.

My craving for things to happen was being fed as fast as a rapid-firing gun in full action.  I found waiting very irksome but there was a cooking class, a mother’s meeting, two sets of composition papers to be corrected and various household duties that stubbornly refused to adjust themselves to my limited time.

At last, however, I was free to go and delayed not a minute in starting on my visit.

* * * * *

Kishimoto’s home was lower down in the city than mine and very near the sea.  The house was ancient and honorable.  Its air of antiquity was undisturbed by the great changes which had swept the land in the ages it had stood.  The masters had changed from father to son, but the house was as it had been in the beginning, and with it lived unbroken and unshifting, the traditions and beliefs of its founders.

It was only a matter of a few minutes after passing the lodge gates until I was ushered into the general living-room and the center of the family life.

The master being absent, the ceremony of welcoming to his house a strange guest was performed by his wife.

One could see at a glance that she belonged to the old order of things when the seed of a woman’s soul seldom had a chance to sprout.  She performed her duties with the precision of a clock, with the soft alarm wound to strike at a certain hour, then to be set aside to tick unobtrusively on till needed again.

The seat of honor in a Japanese home is a small alcove designated as “the Tokonoma.”  In this ancient house simple decorations of a priceless scroll and a flowering plum graced the recess.  Before it on a cushion of rich brocade I was asked to be seated.

Etiquette demanded that I hesitate and apologize for my unworthiness as I bowed low and long.

Custom insisted that my hostess urge my acceptance as she abased herself by touching her forehead to her hands folded upon the floor.

Of course it ended by my occupying the cushion, and I was glad for the interruption of tea and cake.

[Illustration:  Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor, and listlessly put out one hand to greet me]