“Yes, I did; so was Mr. Chalmers.  He left good-by!”

“Good-by?” In Zura’s question there was much annoyance and some anger.

Jane chimed in.  “Both the boys gone?  What a pity!  I’ve just made a relly joll.”

Whether intentional or not, Jane’s twisted words sent a little breeze of laughter before the coming storm.  For the rest of the afternoon Zura had little to say.  Book in hand she sat in the windowseat overlooking the water, watching the snow-white sails skim the opal sea.

I made no further explanation of Mr. Chalmers or his call, thinking it best to await the arrival of his note.

It came just before night.  The reading of it left Zura white.  She looked at me stonily, “I suppose,” she began, stiff with anger, “that you did this.”

“I did,” I answered, looking into her blazing eyes.

“And I suppose too,” she continued with withering scorn, “that was why the gay cavalier kissed your hand.  I saw him through the window.  So touching!  That’s what you were plotting when I found you in the garden.  Page Hanaford was in it too; I saw it in his face.  I hate him!  I hate everything!  Oh!” she cried, with a sudden outburst of passion, “the lot of you are a pack of withered mummies.  Not one of you know what it means to be homesick; how I’m aching for a good time!  Yes, I was going with Pinkey to have a picnic on the island.  Yes, I was going to slip off without telling you.  How could you understand?  What was the harm in my having a little pleasure?  Do you think I intend to bend to the rules of this law-cursed country?  No, I will not!  I’ll go where I please.  I’ll have my own friends!”

As gently as I could I forced her to go to her room and listen to what I had to say.  I related what had passed between Mr. Chalmers and me, of the fatal thing she was contemplating and how her grandfather had appealed to me for help.  Never had I dreamed of such passion, such grief in a young girl.  She was like some wild thing, trying to beat its way to freedom through prison bars.

No word of mine, however tender, seemed to touch her.  I began to feel useless, miserable, and a joy killer in general.  I almost wished for the dull days of old; at least I knew how to deal with them.  I could give points to the Minister of Education, talk volubly at Mothers’ Meetings and translate Confucius from the original, but I was helpless before this girl in her conflict with conditions to which she could never yield and which she fought with all the fierceness of undisciplined strength.  I could think of no word to comfort her.  I sought to divert her.  “Zura, listen!  Do you remember the hat I wore the first day I came to see you?  You do remember, for I saw you smiling at it.  Well, I’ve worn it for eight years.  Don’t cry, Dearie; please don’t; and I’ll let you send to Yokohama and select me another one.”

Sending to Yokohama for anything had always been an event to me.  It was the only excitement I could think of.  But Zura flung herself around at me.  “Hang your old hat!  What is a hat to a man, and he the only friend I have out here.  I don’t care if there was another girl!  She can have him.  He was somebody to play with.  It was something to do, a touch of home.  Oh! it’s cruel! cruel!”