A wilful girl in a Japanese home!  My disapproval fled.  Soon enough life would administer reproof and stretch out a rough hand to stay her eagerness.  I need add nothing.

A little depressed at losing her as a pupil and knowing that her defiance could only bring sorrow, I asked her gently, “Do you love good times?”

“Do I?  Well, just wait till I get started.  See if the slant eyes of the inhabitants will not have another angle before I get through.  They need a few lessons on the rights of girls.”

Neither Zura’s home nor her parents seemed to have any part in her life.  She told of a prank played at midnight one Hallowe’en.

“But,” I asked, “did your mother permit you to be out at such an hour?”

“My mother!” she repeated with a light laugh.  “My mother is nothing but a baby.  She neither cared nor knew where I was or what I did.”

“What about your father?” I ventured.  “I understand you and he were great friends.”

If I had struck the girl, the effect could not have been more certain.  She arose quickly, her face aquiver with pain; she threw her hands forward as if in appeal to some unseen figure; then she moaned, “Oh!  Daddy!” and she was gone.

Like the stupid old meddler I was, I tore the wound afresh.  I exposed the bruised place in the girl’s life, but my blunder brought to light unsuspected depths.

It was all so sudden that I was speechless and stared blankly at the mother, who looked helpless and bewildered.  The two grandmothers had taken no part nor interest in the scene.  Their faces expressed nothing.  To them the girl was as incomprehensible as any jungle savage.  To me she was like some wild, free bird, caught in a net, old, but very strong, for its meshes were made from a relentless law.

I made my adieu with what grace I could and left.

* * * * *

On my way home I met Kishimoto San.  Omitting details, I told him Zura declined to come to my house for lessons.

“So!  My granddaughter announced she will not?  I shall give her a command to obey.”

I suggested that the girl needed time for adjustment and that he needed much patience.

“Patience!  With a girl?” he replied.  “Ah. madam, you utter great demands of my dignity!  It is like requesting me to smile sweetly when grasping the fruit of a chestnut tree which wears a prickly overcoat.  But I thank your great kindness for honoring my house and my family. Sayonara.”

Deep thought held me fast as I passed through the cheerful, busy streets and up the long flight of steps that led from the highway to my home.  I was too occupied mentally to pay much attention to Jane’s unnumbered questions regarding my visit.  Anyhow, my association with Jane had led me to discover she could talk for a very long while, and never get anywhere, not even to an end.

That night she talked herself to sleep about girls and poetry and beaux, which as far as I could see had nothing to do with the matter.