At this Zura’s eyes sparkled, but the sincerity of Jane’s welcome appealed to her better part and she suppressed a laugh.

* * * * *

My house possesses one small guest-room.  Without mentioning it, I disposed of a few curios and with the proceeds I ransacked the shops for things suitable for girls.  My morning had been spent in arranging my purchases.  It was a very sweet moment to me when, after I had ushered in my guest, she stood for a second taking it all in; then putting out her hand she said, “It’s like a picture and you are very kind.”

Afterwards Jane Gray, looking like a trousered ghost in her outdoor sleeping garments, crept into my study and interrupted the work I was trying to make up.

“Oh, Miss Jenkins,” she whispered mysteriously, “I’ve just thought it all out—­a way to make everybody happy, I mean.  Wouldn’t it be truly splendid if dear Page Hanaford and Zura were to fall in love?  It’s a grand idea.  She has the mares and anners of a duchess and so has he.”  Excitement invariably twisted Jane’s tongue.

“For Heaven’s sake, Jane, do you mean airs and manners?”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” went on Jane undisturbed.  “And oh! can you think of anything more sweetly romantic?”

I laid down my pen and asked Miss Gray to look me straight in the eyes.  Then I put the question to her:  “Will you tell me what on earth romance, sweet or otherwise, has to do with a young fellow struggling not only with poverty, but with something that looks like mystery, and a wild, untamed, wilful girl?”

To which my companion replied:  “But just think what love would do to them both!”

I guess the difference in Jane’s sentiment and mine is the same as between a soft-shell crab and a hard-shell one.

VII

AN INTERRUPTED DINNER

The next two days passed happily, if a little giddily, and Jane and I commanded every resource to entertain our guest.  Zura saw and responded like a watch-spring suddenly released.  She found in two simple old women perfect subjects on which to vent her long-suppressed spirits.  She entered into the activities of the household with such amazing zest, it seemed as if we were playing kitchen furniture.  While it surprised me how one young girl could so disturb regular working hours and get things generally a-flutter, I could easily see that all she needed was a chance to be herself.  That was the point that Kishimoto had to understand and would not.

“Please let me be Santa Claus this time, and give out the cod liver oil and the milk and the bibs to the babies,” Zura begged one day when these articles were to be distributed; “and mayn’t I keep the kiddies for just a little while to play with?”

An hour later, attracted by much noise, I walked out into the garden and saw Zura with a clean, but much-patched baby on her back, one in each arm, and a half-dozen trailing behind.  The game was “Here we go ’round the mulberry bush,” sung in English and played in Japanese.