Kishimoto San had not seen her since her marriage until lately.  He had honorably prayed that he never would.  Some weeks before she had returned to Hijiyama practically penniless, which was bad, and a widow, which made it very difficult to marry her off again; but worse still was the half-breed child she had brought with her, a daughter of about seventeen.  This girl, whose name was Zura, I soon found was the sore spot in Kishimoto San’s grievance, the center around which his storm of trouble brewed.

It was like pouring oil on flames when I asked particularly about the girl.

Though he could speak English that was quite understandable, he broke loose in Japanese hardly translatable.  “She is a wild, untamed barbarian.  She has neither manners nor modesty, and not only dares openly to scorn the customs of my country and religion, but defies my commands, my authority.”

Knowing him as I did, I thought it must indeed be a free, wild spirit to meet the blow of Kishimoto San’s will and not be crushed by the impact.  My interest in the girl increased in proportion to his vehemence.  I ventured to ask for details.  They came in a torrent.

“It is not our custom for young girls to go on the street unattended.  I forbade her going.  Deaf to my orders, she strays about the streets alone and dares to sail her own sampan.  She handles it as deftly as a common fisherman.  She goes to out-of-the-way places and there remains till it suits her impudence to return to my house.  In the hours of the night she disturbs my meditations by sobbing for her home and her father.  She romps on the highways with street children, who follow her as they would a performing monkey.”

“But surely,” I mildly interposed, “it is no great breach of custom to play with children.  Your granddaughter is doubtless lonely and it may give her pleasure.”

The face of my visitor stiffened.

“Pleasure!” he repeated.  “Does she not know that a woman’s only pleasure is obedience?  Is there not enough of my blood in her to make her bow to the law?  Twice she has told me to attend to my own affairs!  Told me!  Her ancestor!  Her Master!” This last word he always pronounced with a capital M.

Kishimoto San was not cruel.  Unlike many of his countrymen, who are educated by modern methods as regarding laws governing women, he was still an old-time Oriental in the raw.

It was at this uncomfortable moment that the little maid brought in tea.  I instructed her to serve it on the balcony which overlooked sea and mountain.  The appealing beauty of the scene always soothed me as a lullaby would a restless child.  I hoped as much for my disturbed visitor.  I gave him his second cup of tea, and asked him whether the mother could not control her daughter.  It set him going.