The picture of Zura Wingate, whose early training had been free and unrestrained, being brought to order by a Japanese mother-in-law was almost too much for my gravity.  It would be like a big black beetle ordering the life of a butterfly.  Not without a struggle the conservative grandfather acknowledged that his system had failed.  For the first time since I had known him Kishimoto San, with genuine humility, appealed for help.  “Madam, my granddaughter is like new machineries.  The complexities of her conduct causes my mind to suffer confusion of many strange thought.  Condescend to extend to me the help of your great knowledge relating to girls reared with your flag of freedom.”

I had always thought my ignorance on the subject as deep as a cave.  I would begin at once to excavate my soul in search of that “great knowledge.”

I proceeded a little loftily:  “Oh, Kishimoto San, I am sure there is a way to right things.  The fault lies in the fact that Zura and you do not understand each other.  Suppose you permit her to come to me for a little visit without study.  It would give us great pleasure and I could learn to know her better.”

Pushing aside all hesitation and the apologies that etiquette required on such occasions, greatly relieved, he quickly accepted my invitation.  “You do my house great honor to assume the mystery of Zura’s conduct.  I give you most honorable thanks.”

When he said good-night the look on his face suggested that a smile might penetrate the gloom, if he lived long enough.

* * * * *

“By Jove! is that what the women of this country have to go up against?” Page asked when the door had closed behind Kishimoto San.

“A very small part of them must do so, Mr. Hanaford.  It is not so hard for the women born to it, as they know their fate and can accept it from babyhood.  The suffering falls upon the alien, who runs afoul of their customs, especially one who has known the delight of liberty.”

“Liberty!” repeated Page, gazing out of the window on the thousands of lights below, which were fluttering in the velvety darkness like a vast army of fireflies.  “Without it, what is life to the smallest—­moth!”

VI

ZURA WINGATE’S VISIT

These were the days I kept an eagle eye on Jane Gray.  She grew steadily stronger and her activities resembled a hive of bees.  Unless she was carefully observed and brought to order, her allowance of milk and part of her food went to some child or stray beggar, waiting outside the lodge gates.

She talked incessantly and confidently of the hospital she intended to build in the Quarters.  She had not a sen and I had less.

With the grocery bill unpaid, her cheerful assurance sometimes provoked me.  “Goodness, Jane, you haven’t enough to buy even one shingle for a hospital!  To hear you talk one would think the National Bank was at your command.”