Part 2

"Where?" He was curiously interested. He fancied that her face was familiar.

"Ad tea-house."

"What tea-house?"

"On liddle bit island. You 'member? I dance like this-a-way." She performed a few steps.

"What! you that girl?" He knew her in an instant now. "How could you remember me?"

"You following me after dance with 'nudder American gent, and before thad some one point ad you--ole wooman thad always accompanying me."

"How did _she_ know me?"

"She din know you to speag ad, bud--she saying you mos' reech barbarian ad all Japan."

"Oh, I see," he said, coldly.

"She tell me I bedder git marry with you."

"Indeed! Why?"

She hung her head a moment. "Because she know I luffing with you," she said.

"You loving with _me_!" He laughed outright. Her ingenuousness was entrancing.

"Yes," she said, and he, with masculine conceit, half believed her.

"But wouldn't you rather stay at the tea-house than get married?" he asked.

"Not nuff money that businesses," she returned.

"Do you do everything for money?"

"How I goin' to live?"

This question, answering a question, brought her back to the purpose of her visit. She held her little hands out to him.

"Ah, excellency, _pray_ marry with me," she begged.

He took her hands quickly in his own. They were soft and so small. He could enclose them with one of his. They were delightful. He knew they were daintily perfumed, like everything else about her. He did not let them go.

"You ought not to marry, you know," he said to her, almost boyishly. "How old are you, anyhow?"

She ignored his question.

"I will be true, good wife to you forever," she said, and then swiftly corrected herself, as though frightened by her own words. "No, no, I make ridigulous mistage--not forever--jus' for liddle bit while--as you desire, augustness!"

"But I don't desire," he laughed nervously. "I don't want to get married. I won't be over a few months at most in Japan."

"Oh, jus' for liddle bit while marry with me," she breathed, entreatingly--"Pl-ease!"

It hurt him strangely to have her plead so. She looked delicate and refined and gentle. He put her hands quickly from him. She held them out and put them back again into his. Her eyes clouded, and he thought she was going to cry.

He was seized with a desire to keep her from weeping, if he could, this little creature, who seemed made for anything but tears. He spoke from this impulse, without giving so much as a second's thought to the seriousness of his words.

"Don't cry. I'll marry you, of course, if you want me to."

He felt the hands in his own tremble.

"Thangs, excellency," she said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, but it was a voice which had in it no note of joy.

There was pleasure, however, in the eyes of the nakoda. He had done a good piece of business, a most excellent piece of business, for the American gentleman was reputed to be able to buy hundreds and hundreds of rice-fields if he so cared to do. The nakoda came forward with a benignant smile to arrange the terms.

"She will cost only three hundred yen per down and fifteen yen each end per week. Soach a cheap price for a wife!"

It was the grinning face of this matrimonial middleman that brought Bigelow back to his senses. He had said he would marry this little creature, whose limp hands he was holding. He dropped them as though they were the hands of one dead, and drew back.

"I won't do it!" he almost shouted. "Never!" Then he thought what must be the feelings of the little girl whose yoke of marriage he was refusing, and softened. "I wasn't thinking when I said I would. I don't want to marry a Japanese girl. I don't want to marry any girl. I wouldn't be doing right, and it wouldn't be fair to you." He paused, and then added, lamely, "I think I'd like you awfully, though, if I only knew you."

"But--" spoke up the nakoda, anxiously, who found his dream of a large fee fading into thin air.

Jack turned upon him quickly and gave him a sharp look, whereat he retired hurriedly.

A look of relief had come over the girl's face when Jack had cried out that he would not marry her, and at this he wondered much. This relief in her face, however, was succeeded almost instantly by disappointment. But she spoke no further word. She gave him a single hurried glance from beneath fluttering eyelashes, courtesied until her head was almost on a level with his knees, and left him.

III

AN APPOINTMENT

Jack Bigelow regarded the attempt of the nakoda and little Miss ---- (he had not even thought to ask her name) as an incident closed by the retirement of the one aspiring to wifehood from his sight. But in passing from his house she had not passed from his mind. This she occupied in spite of him, though it must be said that Jack made no effort to eject her.

He had been approached by many nakodas, who had the disposal of some most excellent wives, so they had told him, but never before had he consented to see one of their offerings; so the sensation of being asked in marriage by a girl whom he had only seen once before, and that under circumstances which prevented his seeing her clearly, was altogether new. That he, John Hampden Bigelow, A.B.--he was very proud of that A.B., it had not cost him any particular labor--should be so sought out was not at all displeasing to his vanity, a quality that he prided himself on not possessing; this, notwithstanding the fact that he knew he had been approached because he had money.

He chuckled at the event several times during the day. He would keep this incident in mind, with all its detail, and make use of it now and then after he had returned home, when he was called upon to talk of his experiences in other lands. Of course, he would exaggerate a bit here and tone down a bit there, and would make the girl much prettier. No, the girl was pretty enough. This part of the incident could not be improved upon.

Jack mused about the morning's episode during the entire day, and twice exploded into such laughter at the idea of his being asked for a husband that his little man hurried in to see if the gay-eyed barbarian was taking leave of his senses. In the evening he grew restless, and, having nothing else to do--so he told himself--he went out to the tea-garden on the little island which he had visited a few nights before. For an hour he waited for something--for something that did not appear. Finally, when the proprietor chanced to pass him, he asked in the manner of one casually interested:

"The girl who danced and sang the other night--is she here?"

She was not, for which the proprietor humbly asked pardon. She had not visited his poor place since the night the American had seen her.

For some reason Jack suddenly lost interest in the house and gardens, and returned to his home. But the next night--again because he had nothing else to do--found him once more a guest at the tea-garden. This time he did not leave at the end of an hour; possibly because a weird dance was performed and a weird song sung by a girl with vivid blue eyes. He could not see their color from where he sat, but he knew they were blue.

After that he fell into the habit of visiting the gardens every night--these were dull times in Tokyo--never anything else to do. Most of the evenings so spent were intensely wearisome, but some few of them were not. It may only have been a series of coincidences, but it so happened that on the enjoyable evenings there was a weird dance and a weird song, and on the others there were not the graceful swayings of a little body, nor the wonderful music of a wonderful voice.

One evening, immediately after the song had been ended, he found himself striding down the same road he had taken with the excited theatrical manager, and this without consciously having decided upon such a course. But he came down to the beach without seeing man or woman, and, though he would not acknowledge to himself that he was seeking any one, he carried away with him a keen sense of disappointment.

For two weeks the dulness of Tokyo remained unabated, so that the evenings offered nothing else to do save to go to the tea-gardens. At the end of that time, Jack, becoming honest with himself, admitted that there was nothing else, because there was nothing else he wanted to do, and while in this frank mood he let it become known to himself that there was nothing else in all the land of the rising sun that held so much of interest to him as did the girl who had offered herself to him for wife--nothing, indeed, in all the other lands of the earth. Why this was, he did not know, not being one given to searching his own soul or the souls of others.

While he reclined at his ease one afternoon in the little room in which he lounged and smoked, he began to place her, in his imagination, here and there in the house, to try the effect.

He set her in one of his largest chairs, notwithstanding she would have been much more comfortable on the floor, in this same room, and she added wonderfully to the appearance of things. He stood her pensively by the tokonona; he nodded his head--very good! He placed her out beneath a cherry-tree in his garden; again he nodded approvingly. And a breakfast with her sitting opposite him! That would be like unto the breakfasts eaten by the angels in heaven--if angels partake of other than spiritual nourishment. Yes, she would be wonderfully effective in his little house, would harmonize with it greatly.

But what an odd figure she would make in an American dress! He thought of her in a golfing costume, and smiled at his fancy. Nevertheless, even in the gowns worn by the women of his own country, she would be quaint and charming, he felt sure. She would be awkward, of course, but would be graceful even in her awkwardness. And she would transgress every polite convention, and would make herself all the more delightful in so doing. He compared her to the wives of some of the men he knew, to many of the girls he had met since girls had begun to have interest for him, and his admiration for her grew apace. He would be proud of her, he knew, for she was pretty and would attract attention; men like their wives to draw eyes towards them. She was unlike the wife of any of his countrymen he was likely to meet, and this also was much.

What would his parents think? They'd be angry at first, of course, but they'd give in; they loved him, and couldn't resist her; no one could resist her. Anyhow, this prospective trouble was so far ahead that there was no use in wasting thought upon it now.

Why the deuce hadn't he learned her name? It was very monotonous this being compelled to think of her only as "she" and "her."

But why had she come to him asking him to marry her? He shook his head at that; he didn't quite like it. But--oh, well, you know, these Japs have no end of queer customs. This incident just illustrated one of them. She was clearly a superior kind of a girl. Not an ordinary geisha as he had thought when his eyes first fell on her. He had seen enough of the geishas at the tea-houses to know that she was of a different kind; to his Occidental eyes these last were most pleasing creatures, but--

Just then his man straggled through the room and brought an end to his musing. Marry her? He sat up straight. What had he been thinking about? The idea was absurd. It was absurd for him to think about marrying any one. He got to his feet, called back his man, and ordered a jinrikisha to be brought to him. He rode off to Tokyo to forget all about it.

But it would not be forgotten. After he had left the jinrikisha he caught sight of her on the opposite side of the street, turning a corner. He hurried after her, but when he reached the corner she was nowhere to be seen. He looked into all the shops on either side of the street for a distance of a hundred yards, but saw no one who bore the least resemblance to her. Then he tramped about the immediate vicinity, his sense of loss deepening with each minute, until he noticed that the shop-keepers were eying him with suspicion. He gave up the search and started back to his jinrikisha.

As he was swinging along disconsolately, his eyes lighted upon another person whom he knew--Ido, the nakoda--and him Jack did not let escape. He pounced down upon him, and clapped a hand upon his shoulder.

"Hallo there!" he called out.

Ido started back as if he had been set upon by an enemy. He was unused to such emphatic greetings. But when he saw who his assailant was he slipped a smile upon his face, smirked and bowed, and hoped that the august American's days were filled with joy.

"They'll do," Jack answered. "And how are things with you? Business good? Making many matches?"

Ido had introduced four persons to incomparable happiness--which was to say, he had brought about two marriages. Had his lordship come into like happiness?

No, his lordship had not.

"You making gradest mistage you' whole lifetime," Ido assured him. "You nod yit seen Japanese woman that please you for wife? No? I know nodder girl you' excellency nod seen yit. Mos' beautiful in Japan. You like see her?"

"No, I've seen enough. By-the-way, Ido, what's become of the girl you brought around to my place? Married yet?" Jack put on a look of indifferent interest.

"No, excellency."

For one disinterested, Jack found much relief in this answer.

"But I thing she going to be," Ido went on, calmly. "Two, three--no, two odder gents--What you say?--consider--yes, consider her."

These words drove relief from the disinterested Jack's heart, and instantly set up in its place a raging jealousy. But he compelled himself to remark, quite easily, "You don't say!"

Ido confirmed his statement with a nod that was almost a bow.

"A very pretty girl," Jack commented, loftily.

Ido's reply was confined to a mere "Yes." There was no use going into ecstasies when no bargain was in sight.

"I think I'll go around to see her, and congratulate her," Jack went on. "Where does she live?"

"I regretfully cannot tell."

"Ah, well, let it go then. But, say, I really would like to see her again before she's married. Rather took a fancy to her, you know. Couldn't you bring her to call on me to-morrow morning?"

"I going to be very busy to-morrow." Seeing no chance of earning a marriage-fee, he saw no reason for taking the trip.

"I'll pay you for your trouble--needn't worry about that."

Perhaps Ido could arrange to come; yes, now that he thought again, he knew he could come.

So it was settled that he and the girl should visit Jack at ten o'clock the next day.

IV

IN WHICH MAN PROPOSES

The announcement of his man that Ido and his charge had arrived contained no news for Jack, for he had been watching the road from Tokyo since nine o'clock, and had seen them while they were yet afar off. Nevertheless, he did not enter the zashishi until his man came to him with word that guests from the city were awaiting him, and then he had no definite idea of what he intended to do.

She was dressed exactly as she had been on her previous visit, and she made obeisance almost to the floor, in greeting him, as she then had done. He hastened her recovery from the deep courtesy by taking her hands and raising her to an upright posture.

"You have come to see me again? I am very glad to see you," he said, with eager politeness.

"Nakoda say you wish see me. Tha's why I come." There was not a trace of her former coquetry in her manner.

"Yes, I had to send Ido after you. I don't suppose you would ever have let me see you again if I had not."

She shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly. "Me you don' wish marrying with. You send me 'way. What I do?"

"We could be capital friends, even if we didn't care to marry, couldn't we?"

"Frien'? I don' wan' frien'," she returned, coldly.

"But I'd like to have you for my friend, all the same, though I'm afraid it's not possible. Ido"--he hesitated--"Ido says you're going to be married, you know."

She inclined her head.

"You're not married yet, are you?" he asked in alarm, forgetting that he had put this same question to the nakoda the day before.

"Nod yit."

"Do you--um--like him?"

"Which one, my lord?" She looked up at him innocently.

"Oh, both of them!" He was beginning to get angry. He would find pleasure in laying violent hands upon the two, one at a time.

"Jus' liddle bit, augustness."

"Better than you do me?" he demanded, jealously.

She shook her head decisively. "You nod so ole, an nod so--hairy-like." She rubbed her little hands over her face, by which he understood that the two wore beards. They were doubtless of his own country.

He hardly knew what to say next, and the silence grew embarrassing to him. She broke it by remarking, very quietly:

"Nakoda inform me you wan' make liddle bit talk ad me."

He turned to the match-maker, who was pretending deep interest in a framed drawing on the wall. "Say, Ido, just step into the next room a minute, will you?"

He turned back to the girl, as soon as Ido had obeyed him, with extravagant alacrity.

"You have never even told me your name," he said.

"Yuki."

"That means 'Snowflake,' doesn't it? I like it. Well now, Yuki, mayn't I visit you at your home, before you are married?"

He was anxious to see what her people were like, and how she lived.

"Mos' poor house in all Tokyo--so liddle bit house augustness nod lige come."

"But I don't care if it is. I want to come anyhow. I want to see you, not the house. Won't you tell me where you live?"

She shook her head. "No," She said with simple directness, and then added as an after-thought, "House too small. You altogedder too big to enter thad liddle bit insignificant hovel."

Her answer gave him offence. He wondered why she should dissemble, wondered whether she was laughing at him. A glance at her, however, and his distrust vanished. She seemed such a simple little body, yet he knew he did not understand her.

Her eyes, which she had kept turned downward, slowly uplifted and looked questioningly into his own. Such wonderful eyes! Such a simple, exquisite face! He was suddenly suffused with a great wave of tenderness, and he bent low, and gently made prisoners of her hands. However indefinite his purpose had been up to this time, it was definite enough now.

"So you remember, Yuki, what you asked me when you were here before?"

"Yes." She still gazed at him questioningly.

"Would you like to--would you rather marry me than one of those other fellows?" he said, softly.

"Yes," again, in the smallest voice this time.

He hesitated, and she asked, quickly, "You _wan_' me do so?"

"That's just what I want, Yuki, dear," he whispered, drawing her hands to his lips.

"All ride." She trembled--perhaps shivered is the better word--as she said this, but gave no other sign of emotion.

Before Jack could so much as touch his lips to her forehead, Ido entered smiling his professional blessing. It was evident that in the other room he had found no drawing to distract his attention, and a large new peephole in the immaculate shoji indicated where he had given all his eyes and ears to what was going on, and he could wait no longer to press his claim.

Jack, seeing an unpleasant duty before him, and desiring to have done with it at once, told Yuki that he would be back in a minute, and led the nakoda into the room out of which he had just come.

Ido immediately began to make terms. This part was loathsome to the young man.

"Why," he said, hotly, "if we're to be married, she can have all she wants and needs."

That wouldn't do at all, the nakoda told him, warily. There would have to be a marriage settlement and a stated allowance agreed upon. He would have to pay more, also, as she was a maid and not a widow.

When the ugly terms of the agreement were completed, the nakoda bowed himself out, and Jack went back to Yuki. He found her changed; her simplicity had left her, and her coquetry had returned. She stood off from him, and he felt constrained and awkward. After a time she demanded of him, with a shrewd inflection in her voice:

"You goin' to lige me, excellency?"

"No question of that," he answered promptly, smiling.

"No," she repeated, "tha's sure thing," and then she laughed at her own assurance, and she was so pretty he wanted to kiss her, but she backed from him in mock alarm.

"Tha's nod ride," she declared, "till we marry."

"God speed the day!" he said, with devout joyousness. Still approaching her, as she backed from him, he questioned her boyishly:

"And you? Will you like me?"

She surveyed him critically. Then she nodded emphatically. They laughed together this time, but when he approached her she grew fearful. He did not want to frighten her.

"You god nod anudder wife?" she asked.

"No! Good heavens!"

"I god nod anudder hosban'," she informed him, complacently.

"I should hope not."

"Perhaps," she said, "you marrying with girl in Japan thad god marry before. Me? I _never_."

"No, of course not." He didn't quite understand what she was driving at.

Then she said: "You pay more money ad liddle girl lige me whad nod been marry before?"

He recoiled and frowned heavily at her.

"I settled that matter with the nakoda," he said, coldly.

Seeing he was displeased, she tried to conciliate him. She smiled at him, engagingly, coaxingly.

"You don' lige me any more whicheven."

But his face did not clear up. She had hurt him deeply by her reference to money.

"Perhaps you don' want me even," she suggested, tentatively. "I bedder go 'way. Leave you all 'lone."

She turned and was making her way slowly out of the room, when he sprang impetuously after her.

"Don't, Yuki!" he cried, and caught her eagerly in his arms. She yielded herself to his embrace, though she was trembling like a little frightened child. For the first time he kissed her.

* * * * *

After she had left him, he stared with some wonder at the reflection of himself in a mirror. So he was to be married, was he? Yes, there was no getting out of it now. As for that, he didn't want to get out of it--of this he was quite sure. He was very well content--nay, he was enthusiastically happy with what the future promised.

But his happiness might have been felt in less measure if his eyes, instead of staring at his mirrored likeness, could have been fixed on Yuki. She had borne herself with a joyous air to the jinrikisha, but once within it, and practically secure from observation, the life had seemingly gone out of her. The brown of her skin had paled to gray, and all the way to Tokyo her eyes shifted neither to right nor left, but stared straight ahead into nothingness, and once, when Ido looked down, he found that they were filled with tears.

V

IN WHICH THE EAST AND THE WEST ARE UNITED

A few days later they were married. It was a very quiet little tea-drinking ceremony, and, unlike the usual Japanese wedding, there was not the painful crowd of relatives and friends attendant. In fact, no one was present, besides themselves, save Jack's man and maid and the nakoda, while Yuki herself sang the marriage song.

They started housekeeping in an ideal spot. Their house, a bit of art in itself, was built on the crest of a small hill. On all sides sloped and leaned green highlands, rich in foliage and warm in color. Beyond these smaller hillocks towered the jagged background of mountain-peaks, with the halo of the skies bathing them in an eternal glow. A lazy, babbling little stream dipped and threaded its way between the hillocks, mirroring on its shining surface the beauty of the neighboring hills and the inimitable landscapes pictured on the canvas of God--the skies--and seeming like a twisted rainbow of ever-changing and brilliant colors. But no surges disturbed its waters, even far beyond where it emptied into the mellow Bay of Tokyo.