The following morning Kittrick dropped in to discuss the news. But there was little to discuss; all Japan was unanimous in the belief that the official statement constituted but a very crudely contrived whitewash. "I think though that the Foreign Office might have summoned courage to challenge the General Staff had it been able to get irrefutable proof that it engineered the deal to Chang Tse-lin," said Kittrick. "But they failed to get it, so they were in fact quite wise in not making a charge which they could not back up. I think, though, that the Premier made a mistake in issuing the statement over his own signature. Now he has tarred himself with the same brush as the militarists, and if the world loses whatever confidence it gained in Japan at the Washington Conference, Japan has only herself to blame."

"I think——" began Kent, but he was interrupted by a noise at the door, and the Great Nishimura strode in, radiant, flatulent with self-importance.

"Hello, Nishimura-san," Kent waved him to a chair. "We were just talking about the Premier's proclamation. What do you think of it?"

"Bunk!" He dismissed the matter with a scornful sweep of the hand. "Gentlemen, congratulate me; I'm going to be a candidate for the House of Representatives."

"Good for you; congratulations. What party will it be, Seiyukai or Kenseikai?"

"Ah, that's a detail that hasn't been decided yet. We shall find out first which party seems to be the strongest in my native place where I'm going to run; we're a little uncertain yet. But the most important part, the financial arrangement, has all been fixed up, so probably, gentlemen, a short time from now you shall address me as the Honorable Nishimura, and, who knows, some day it may be His Excellency Nishimura. Finally my talents are being recognized by the people that count. I know the game, and I shall go far—and I shan't forget my friends." He smiled effusively. "In fact, that's what I came in about, to see if you two gentlemen would care to join me in a little celebration, just us three. Now, you know, it is not the common thing for us Japanese gentlemen to go to the Yoshiwara. It isn't done, at least not openly. We go to geisha houses when we want relaxation for 'the tired business man,' as you Americans say. But the fact is, an old client of mine owns one of the first-class houses in the Yoshiwara, and to tender his respects to me he has invited me to come with a few friends to his place—so I thought you might like to come."

"Why, thanks, Nishimura-san, I think I'd like to go." Kent had never seen the Yoshiwara. He had meant to see it, just as he had meant to see the Imperial Museum and the tombs of the Forty-seven Ronin, some day, ever postponing with the knowledge that he might go at any time. "What about you, Kittrick?"

"Sure I'll go. The Yoshiwara isn't what it used to be, is it, Nishimura-san?" The great man shook his head sadly. "Still we shall enjoy the excellent hospitality of the coming Premier of Japan."

"Who knows?" he smiled deprecatingly. "All right, gentlemen, I shall be here at seven with a car."

The car he brought must have been one of the largest in Tokyo, an enormous thing with an interior resplendent with mirrors, cut-glass flower holders and manifold glittering nickel trimmings. "Not a hired car, this," explained Nishimura. "It belongs to the Watanabe interests, my backers, who are now assisting me. Step in."

They swept through Tokyo, through a dimly lighted section of narrow streets, emerging presently into a quarter where great buildings, brilliantly lighted, presented a vivid contrast to the surrounding squalor. "Here we are," announced Nishimura. "The nightless city of wine, and song, and beautiful women. You have nothing like that in America."

"I'd like to take a look around before we go to your place," said Kent. "Do you mind?"

"I shall show you the place, and then you two can walk about a bit. I shall wait for you. I cannot well be seen in these streets, you know."

Their destination was an enormous house, three-storied, gorgeous with elaborate carvings and gilt ornamentation. Kittrick and Kent set out down the wide street, bright in the blaze thrown out from the scintillating glare from the great buildings, all spotless, prosperous looking, glittering with light and tinsel. Along the front of each house ran a great hall-like space. One entered and faced a show-window-like arrangement, where rows of large portraits of women, each bearing a name, appeared, set in variously arranged backgrounds of gilt screens, vases with flowers, heavy hangings of brocade, excellently executed silk scroll pictures. At each end of this was a small box, ludicrously like a pulpit, in which sat men, the doorkeepers, who drove the bargains with the guests. Some sat silently, impassively suffering the crowds to flow by, stirred to action only when inquiries were made of them. Others were busy, after the fashion of barkers at a fair, praising their wares, calling attention to the beauties displayed, to the cheap prices. In some houses huge open gateways allowed glimpses of gardens, meticulously arranged with stone lanterns, miniature shrines, grotesquely gnarled pine trees throwing their shadows in the soft light flooding the space from the windows above, each a delicately contrived, entrancing little fairyland, inviting, alluring.

They passed down narrower streets, mere alleys, where the lights were dim, the houses smaller, some displaying but three or four portraits, and where the barkers were more insistent. But throughout it all was noticeable the almost entire absence of women. Here and there, especially in the smaller places, a painted face might be glimpsed for an instant between parted curtains, titters might be heard behind drawn shoji, and from above would come the strident whimper of samisen and high-pitched female voices; but that was all.

As they progressed, the sameness grew tiring; one became irritated at the monotony of these rows and rows of stiffly smiling portraits staring at one, all so curiously alike that soon they gave the impression of a vast composite picture.

"I don't see much in it," commented Kent. "It seems to me drab, tedious. Many of the settings are fine, beautiful even, but so much of it is sordid, these barkers and the pictures, the gross commercial hawking of women with as little feeling as if they were meat in a butcher shop. I can't see the temptation."

"You came too late," said Kittrick. "You ought to have seen this place a few years ago, when the women were displayed, when these fronts faced right up to the street, showing the girls behind gilded bars. You could look down an entire street, a blaze of light and gorgeous color. Here would be a dozen girls with high coiffures, whitened faces and painted lips, all clad alike in costly silks, gold and crimson, set against a background of heavy brocade and among massive, carved hibachi and mirrors; here, in the next place, would be a score of women in purple and silver, shimmering against hangings of soft-toned velvet; farther on would be another row, in dark blue and white, in the background marvelous carvings and dwarf pines and flowers, and so on, as far as eye could see, a kaleidoscope of glittering and glimmering gilt, and lacquer, and bronze, and constant, restless flittering of soft textures, blazing colors, riotously bewildering, all decking and displaying thousands of women for sale,—a truly barbaric phantasy of the Orient, where, if one could forget the beastly commercialism of it all, one might at least have a picture, flamingly, prismatically dazzling eye and imagination. And then came the reformer. He pointed out, quite rightly, of course, that it was degrading to the great Japanese nation to have its women displayed, like animals, in cages. So they put an end to that part of it, the beauty, the splendor, and did away with the only excuse that the Yoshiwara ever had for existence; for then, by the gods, you might well have called it one of the Seven Wonders of the World."

They returned to the house where Nishimura was awaiting them. A flock of servants, male and female, attended them. They were evidently honored guests. In a large room, they found Nishimura and his host. It was enormous, hall-like almost, with spotless tatami matting, as usual with only a low table, effulgent in crimson lacquer, some soft silk zabuton, but the few ornaments, an ancient kakemono in the tokonoma recess and a couple of vases, were evidently antiques of great price. Nishimura introduced the host, a patriarchal gentleman in rich, black silks, white-bearded, dignified, incongruously venerable when one thought of the nature of his commerce.

"You understand, of course, that our coming here like this to-night is altogether unusual," explained Nishimura. "Ordinarily guests to come here must first have gone to the introducing house, to get admission. This is one of the best houses, and it doesn't take in people just from the street. But we're friends, and you don't even have to pick your ladies from the portraits. You shall see them all in the flesh. It's a great honor."

The old man smiled benignly, clapped his hands.

Patter of feet and swish of silks in the corridors beyond. Then suddenly a sliding partition moved aside and a score of girls tripped into the room, arranged themselves in a long, curved row about the men, stood there, like soldiers for inspection, all clad alike in crimson and gold, some haughtily indifferent, others smiling or tittering, a flaunting picture of color, crimson lips, white faces, black hairdress, shimmering wealth of soft undulating textures.

The old man swept out his hand towards the line of girls. "Please, gentlemen, select from among these unworthy women the ones whom you wish to serve you."

The white men were a bit embarrassed. It was very difficult to choose in such an array of beauty. They pointed, hesitatingly, almost at random, to two girls, who left the row slowly, knelt on the mats before them. One of the older girls was picked by Nishimura. "The oldest are the best," he advised.

The other girls moved out, procession-like. "And now, would you care to see my poor place?" The host rose and they followed him. It was a vast building through which he led them, tier upon tier of rooms set in a square about a garden, dark-green foliage refracting the soft shimmer of light filtering on all sides through the rows of shoji; through the verdure might be glimpsed clumps of flowers, a tiny stream with a miniature red, high-curved bridge. They walked through a maze of corridors over dark, brilliantly polished hardwood floors, a labyrinth of passages and stairways, past score upon score of rooms. Throughout was noticeable an air of taste, artistically planned arrangement of pictures, furnishings and ornaments, all spotless. The whole thing bore an air of refinement, delicately restrained artistry, perfection, vitiated only by the uneasy thought lurking ever in the background of the mind, the pity that all this beauty should be devoted to the most sordid commerce of man.

They returned to the first room, and immediately a throng of servant women, soberly clad in dark kimonos, their unpainted faces a relief after the array of bedizened vendors of beauty, brought the bewildering multitude of courses which made the banquet. Hot sake was served in small stone bottles. At the elbow of each man sat the girl of his selection, watchfully keeping his cup filled. Nishimura's handmaiden was busy; he expanded in talk.

As he flowed on unendingly, he became interesting with the intimate details of his affairs. It was informing; still it struck Kent that, after all, he was their host, and he must not be allowed to unbosom himself unwisely. He managed to whisper to him. "Aren't you a bit frank, Nishimura-san; remember these women may talk."

Nishimura laughed. "How little you know about the customs of Japan, Kent-san. Don't you know that we of Japan, we statesmen and business men, transact our most important business to the pleasant accompaniment of women, geisha generally, of course, but this is the same. Why, big business deals are closed the best when the presence of beauty stimulates the brain and makes more receptive the mind of the man you deal with. That's why such is no business for striplings who would let their thoughts wander, but for us maturer and wiser men. Have another drink, Kent-san, and talk safely, as freely as you please. Or possibly I have bored you?"

He hastened to reassure him. "No, not at all; on the contrary, it is all intensely interesting; only I can't understand just why you're so eager to get into the political game. You are making money from your business, and politics must surely interfere."

"Ah, how little you know of politics. Now I shall instruct you." He leaned back on his cushion, drew a deep breath, expanded, reminiscent of the fabled bullfrog. The woman beside him hastened to fill his cup. He drained it and held it out to her mechanically. She filled it again.

"You must know, surely, that in all countries business and politics, economics, go together. That's why it's called political economy." He had adopted a didactic tone, and frowned as if wrestling with ponderous problems, pleased with his rÔle as the instructor. "That's the way it is in all civilized countries, only in Japan we have attained somewhat greater perfection, coÖrdination, yes, coÖrdination." The word pleased him. "Still even here it was until quite recently even better than it is to-day. You remember the Manchuria Railway scandal, when such a fuss was made because what had been gained, outside the rules—but what are rules—had found its way to the coffers of the Seiyukai party; and the Kwantung opium affair. Think of it, one official testified that he had turned six million yen of opium money over to the party funds. That's how parties may be made great and be able to see to it that trustworthy men are elected to the Diet. But then the Kenseikai stepped in and caused trouble, foolishly forgetting that some day they may be in power themselves—still, possibly they were actuated by some higher motive, I don't know yet."

Evidently he had remembered that presently he might find himself a Kenseikai candidate. The same thought struck Kittrick.

"But you said that you didn't know whether you'd be a Seiyukai or a Kenseikai candidate. Now, which party platform conforms the most with your principles?" He grinned.

Nishimura waved his hand impatiently. "Oh, platforms! When I was in the States I heard of that all the time. Platforms!" He snapped his fingers. "In Japan we do not tie our statesmen's hands with foolish platforms. We observe the events when they happen and shape our actions accordingly. Wise men do not cross bridges till they come to them. We have no party platforms, at least none to speak of."

"But what do your parties amount to, then?"

"It's the men that count. Our people vote for the men whom they trust, whom they know to be wise. It's the men that count."

"But you haven't explained yet why you're so eager to get into this game?" broke in Kent.

The great man sighed and composed himself patiently to further explanation, as might a man indulgently bear with the inept questions of children. "Well, of course, you see there is power, and influence, and also money, a great deal of money, if one knows the game."

"How much do you get as a member of the Diet?"

"Three thousand yen a year."

"And how much do you figure your election will cost you?"

"At least fifty thousand."

"Then I don't see it. You are elected for four years, but the Diet may be dissolved at any time, and then you are out. In other words, you risk fifty thousand on a chance to gain a maximum of twelve thousand and possibly only three. And I thought you were a business man."

The criticism irritated Nishimura, drew him out entirely. With outstretched hand he warded off further questions. He held out his cup; the woman filled it, and he drained it, composing himself to the task of explaining elementals.

"Of course I don't pay that fifty thousand. That comes from the Watanabe interests. You know, of course, that the future of Japan lies in industry and commerce, and that's in the hands of the great interests, the Watanabes, the Katos, the Oharas and the other big ones and some smaller ones. These interests are patriotic; they know that to succeed Japan must have in the Diet men with experience and vision who will help their industries and make Japan great. So they see to it that the right men are elected. The Watanabes, for instance, are very patriotic and always figure on having about ten men in the House, and the rest all have their own men whom they can depend on. That's why they are helping me."

"Still, if you are elected, you only get the three thousand. That's mighty little to pay for your time and trouble."

Nishimura was almost at the end of his patience, still he made a last effort. "But don't you know that there are many others to whom a Diet member may be useful. Some one wants to help build up Japan's merchant marine, and he naturally needs a subsidy. So he comes to me, and I look into the proposition and it seems worthy, and he pays me for my trouble in examining it, ten, twenty, thirty thousand yen. And another wants the right to place signs on all the Government telegraph poles, and I look into that, and I get another ten, twenty thousand yen. It is all so plain; every one knows it."

"But it seems to me that comes pretty close to accepting bribes, and you said just now that that proved unhealthy for the Manchuria and the Kwantung officials."

"Oh, hell!" He had to resort to English for emphasis. The host, who had been sitting by wonderingly, compassionately tendered him a drink with his own hands. He swallowed it hastily. "That's altogether different. These are officials under the law, and such are not allowed to take bribes; but we legislators, we're not officials under that law. Do you think we could be expected to work for nothing. Of course, nobody expects that. And then even the officials, nobody cares much. In the opium scandal, Kata got only six months for accepting a bribe, and some of the other big men got about that or less—and, of course, in many cases the sentences were very properly deferred. You must have read in the papers how it was given out that some of the leaders held such high orders that they could not be prosecuted, because it would be a national disgrace to send to jail men holding such honorable decorations. Ah, some day," he sighed and held out his cup for more sake, "some day I may be such a high official myself."

The host had seen that the guest of honor was becoming wearied. He clapped his hands, the shoji slid aside and six geisha appeared, with samisen and drums and bustled about, making ready for their performance. The men stretched themselves out more comfortably. As the geisha danced, the sake was passed ceaselessly. Nishimura was becoming sleepy, yawned stentoriously.

The host took the hint. "And now, Nishimura-san, would you retire?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm sleepy and a little, just a little drunk." The host waved his hand and the geisha disappeared. The men arose. Nishimura was led off, leaning heavily on his woman, arm flung over her shoulder. In the doorway he looked back, smiling flabbily, insinuatingly. "Well, so-long, gentlemen. Have a pleasant rest. O yasumi nasai."

The girl led him off, wobbling dangerously. Kent ran to her assistance, and between them they managed to convey him precariously down stairways and through long corridors, to her rooms. The woman sank to her knees, bowed, her forehead almost touching the mats. "Thank you very much. I am sorry that I have troubled you." She stepped into the room. The partition closed behind her. Kent found himself alone. He looked about for Kittrick, but no one was in sight. It was late. The samisen play and singing had ceased. As he wandered through the long hallways he lost his bearings in the vast, labyrinthic house. From the garden below the soft plash of a fountain came up to him. In the silence the great gilt carvings, intricately fashioned lanterns hanging from the eaves, shining surfaces of lacquer refracting lustrously dim light filtering through paper shoji, the air of beauty, still, dream-fraught, brought the impression of a fairy palace asleep. But as he faltered on, seeking the room whence he came, past row on row of rooms, closed shoji, he sensed rather than heard a minute quaver of sound, the faint sibilance of a multitude of whispers, coming from all about him, from behind frail walls and paper partitions, stirring of unseen men and women, titillation of restrained giggling, indefinite, intangible, blending into a vague murmur, a composite, infinitely low, indistinct background of sound.

"Oh, there you are. I have looked for you everywhere." He heard a soft laugh behind him. It was the girl who had sat with him at the feast. "Come." A soft little hand clasped his. He had been perplexed at his helplessness, alone in that great house, silent except for the subdued murmur of bought caresses, purchased kisses, the parody of love played by these poor, painted houris behind the shoji. So he suffered her to lead him on, uncertain as to what was about to come, still relieved at having again definite destination.

"Where is my friend, the other foreigner?"

Her slim hand indicated vaguely the long row of closed sliding partitions before them. "There, somewhere. Now, these are my rooms; please enter." She placed a silk cushion in front of him, sank to the floor, prostrated herself before him, face held low towards her hands spread flat on the tatami, waiting.

"Thank you." He squatted on the cushion. She rose.

"Tea?"

"Please." With deft fingers she brought out the minute paraphernalia, doll-like cups and teapot, poured hot water from the kettle simmering over the glowing charcoal in the hibachi. He looked about; speckless as usual, and dainty, cozy. She had managed to give the room an air of personality, almost homelike, pathetic, with a doll enthroned on a little couch of her own contrivance, her small cupboard showing through glass doors frail china, figurines, temple charms, souvenirs from little excursions which formed the great events of her life. The partition to the next room had been slid aside. He glimpsed chests of fine-grained, unpainted wood where she kept her finery. A pile of crimson silk futon, great wadded quilts, formed a bed on the floor, almost filling the tiny room. He finished his tea, then she indicated the room beyond.

"And now, danna-san, if it pleases you to retire, I shall change my kimono."

He looked at her. Through the evening he had hardly noticed her, as she sat behind him, silent, self-effacive, like a brilliantly colored, hardly perceived shadow. How young she was, and how expressionless her face, unlined, untouched by the exactions of her sorry trade—almost like that of the doll over there, vapidly pretty with its eternal smile. "No, I think not, not now." He noted the wondering, half-frightened expression on her face, and hurried on. "What's the name of your doll?"

Her face brightened, became alive. "Oh, that's Tamayo-san, tamayo, egg, you know, because she's so fat. I have two more. Would you like to see them?" He would. She brought them out. This one had been sent her from her father, from Kiryu. As she prattled on, he drew from her her little history. Daughter of a tenant farmer; she had worked at silk spinning. Then the house had been destroyed by a typhoon, and, like several other girls in her village, she had gone to the Yoshiwara, snapped up by one of the agile agents whom news of the disaster had brought to the spot, alert for business. "They paid fifteen hundred yen for me," she said proudly. "But then, this is one of the best houses, and then I was only sixteen. I am eighteen now."

"Was she unhappy here? Would she not like to go home to her people?"

"Yes, of course, I'd like to go home. Sometimes it's bad here, when the honorable guests are drunk and rough; and some of the other girls are mean and tell lies, and cause trouble. They are jealous of me, and of Yurike-san, and Ainosuke-san, because we are the most popular and make the most money. You know, it's fun every month to go down and look in the big book, for, you know, they must show us our accounts, and see how much you have saved. For I am saving. I'm not like some of the girls who spend all their money on clothes and foolish things and are always in debt. But here the master is pretty good, and in a couple of years I'll have a thousand yen all my own. In some places the masters are cruel and bad and keep the girls in debt always, so they can never get away. No," she cocked her head with a quaint judicious air as if she were gravely weighing the pros and cons; "it isn't so bad."

She spoke of the whole thing as if it were an ordinary business proposition, as she might speak of work in a cotton-spinning mill, or any other occupation. Did she then fail utterly to sense the degradation of her sorry occupation?

"But what about the men then, these scores and scores of guests, caressing you, fondling you——?"

"Oh, of course, that is unpleasant, but then I don't think of them. Shikataganai, it can't be helped. I don't give my heart to them; and then in a few years I shall go home, with lots of money, and I shall marry a nice man, and I shall have only him and love him. And then I shall have babies, real babies, instead of dolls."

He was glad that she was like that, that the sordidness and shame passed by her unnoticed, not thought of. Here was surely a "lotus in the mud," as the proverb had it about these women, who, oddly innocent, mind apparently untouched by the grime and depravity of her surroundings, contrived to keep her spirit untouched, apart from it all. But then, she was only a simple peasant girl, ignorant of moral codes, undisturbed by considerations above physical comfort. But there must be others, more imaginative, more complex, with minds sensitive to the constant insult offered by sensuous leer, sake-fraught breaths in their faces, the compulsion of offering love, or the semblance thereof, for a consideration of money, to a succession of unknown men, unsympathetic, contemptuous, careless of their womanhood. As the thought came to him that here, within the space of a few squares of houses, were thousands of these women, many of them surely with delicately adjusted girl souls, enslaved by circumstance to sacrifice what would have been pure, sweet love aspirations, in this vast market place of meretricious caresses, he could understand the indignation of the reformer whom he had heretofore regarded, superciliously, as a well-meaning meddler.

He was relieved at the arrival of Kittrick. His girl was with him. She and Kent's companion whispered together animatedly. Kittrick yawned. "Well, what about it?"

"I'm glad you came. In fact, I was just wondering how I might manage to slip out of this."

"All right, why not? We can make some excuse surely." Kittrick turned to the girls. "It's getting late, and my friend has just got a bride, a new one, and it's foreign fashion always to come home before midnight during the first six weeks after marriage. My friend always does that with all his brides."

"Really?" Had he told them that Kent has as many wives as Solomon they would have believed it. The customs of foreigners were peculiar; they might do anything. "How many has he?"

Kent counted his fingers. "Six, yes, six or maybe seven. So you see it's time to go home."

"Bad man, that's not good to have so many wives; one, and possibly a mekake, concubine, but one only is better." The small doll face was very serious, a little shocked. So she had a code of morals, after all. "But you're not angry?" The tone was solicitous, frightened. "Have I not pleased you?"

"You poor little thing." He fished out a ten yen note, grasped both her hands and slipped the bill between them. "See, that's for you. Go and buy another doll, a foreign doll, and when you play with it, you can think of me. It's a souvenir."

She came up to him, placed both her arms about his neck, raised herself on her toes and pressed her warm, whitened cheek against his. "How good you are. Are all foreigners like that? I wish you were not going. It's too bad you have so many wives."

"I expect we had better go and say good-by to Nishimura," remarked Kittrick. The girls led them to the room, but he was dead to the world, snoring noisily, sprawling, arms outstretched over the disordered futon, the woman sitting beside him, patiently stirring a fan. The girls took them to the entrance. The streets were no longer crowded, but a few stragglers gathered and watched them curiously as they sat there, in full view, lacing their shoes. Of course, one knew what was in their minds. The embarrassment of the situation was the finishing touch.

"Whew, I'm glad to get out of this." In the silence of the deserted street, dim now and drab, as the brilliance of the lights had given way to a faint glimmer, the only sounds were their footsteps and, in a distance, the clamor of a watchman's clappers. Kent was ill at ease and wanted to get away from these great, quiet houses, from the sense of knowledge of the sordidness, of the lives of all these women stirring fitfully behind these walls. A policeman obligingly found them an automobile and they started home.

"Well, what do you think of it, Kent?"

"I am mainly disgusted, old man, still, I am just now too confused by clashing impressions to know just what to think. I feel so damned sorry for these women, and yet, oddly enough, that little girl of mine was not particularly unhappy. The shame and the hideousness of it all passed right by her. She might have been far more unhappy in a spinning mill. In a few years she'll pass out of it, marry, and forget all about it. But, of course, there must be others, girls who are fine-souled enough to suffer from the constant degradation that is offered them day after day, every day. The whole damned thing ought to be abolished."

"Yes, that's one side of it," said Kittrick. "Sometimes I'm inclined to agree with you; but then again, at other times I'm not. It's the old question of regulation or no regulation, and it is still an open one. At home we have taken the other tack, but I wonder if we're much better off. You know San Francisco, where you may go out any night and pick up girls, just like these, not held in such bondage perhaps, but, on the other hand, furtive, frightened poor devils who are no better off, who have not even the sense of security that the girls have here. We hear of Piccadilly and Leicester Square. The trouble is that as long as men, or at least a great many men, are what they are, women will be sacrificed. The question is the same here as elsewhere; there's something to be said on both sides. It's rotten either way. I've never been able quite to make up my mind which is best, or worst. But, here in Japan, there is at least one thing in their favor, and that's the marvelous way in which the Japanese manage to place a veneer of artistry, of beauty, externally anyway, over this thing. Of course, we have our opulently gorgeous palaces of sin and all that but they seem flaunting and garish when compared with Japan, where even in this they manage to convey a surface of estheticism, delicate beauty, cleanness, with their spotless rooms, fairy gardens and the rest. It is reflected even in these girls who seldom show the loose sensuousness, the brazen, commercial harlotry of our women of that class. And one thing is certain, these girls here in the case of the lower classes, and the geisha in that of the more well-to-do, have served to preserve the purity of the Japanese married woman. It's the existence of the Yoshiwara and the machiai that turns the Japanese philanderer away from the other man's wife. And seeing the tangles and triangles of our cities, the rotten divorce cases, and knowing that the Japanese family, the unsullied virtue of the matron, is the corner-stone of the Japanese Empire, I'm hanged if I can't at least understand the reluctance of the Japanese in tackling this matter, disgusting and tragic as it is."

It was after midnight when he reached the house, but Jun-san was waiting for him. She never retired to her own little house in the garden until the men were safely home.

"You are late, Kent-san." She smiled, stepped closer, peered at him. "Ah, so you have found one at last. The other night it was a rose, and now—— So she is Japanese." The smile left her face. "Kent-san," she took his hand in her earnestness, "Kent-san, it is so seldom that happiness comes from this, a foreign man and a Japanese girl, but, if you must go on, be kind to her, please."

She slipped away. He shivered a little. Poor girl; it was distressing, this air of tragedy which always seemed to cling like a shadow to this beautiful, lovable woman, uncomplaining, with her soft dark eyes. He could envy Karsten to have the love of a woman like that. He felt lonely. Life was drab, tedious, selfish. Would he ever gain such love from some woman. So Jun-san thought he was traveling on that road. The rose, yes, but what could she have seen to-night? Women were always like that, even Jun-san, ever imagining.

He went to his room, began to undress. A glimpse in the mirror made him look more closely,—a white smudge on his cheek. Ah, that was it, a smear of o shiroi, powder from the cheek of the Yoshiwara girl. He wiped it away hurriedly. Damn it, if he should enter into love relations with some Japanese girl, it would not be one like that. The thought of Adachi-san came to him. Yes, a girl such as she; still, his mind insisted, this was not the sort of relation he wished to enter into with her. And if, after all, he did, what would come of it, how would it end? He thought of Jun-san's words, "so seldom happiness comes from this." How devilishly complicated life was, a Scylla or Charybdis; did one steer clear of one rock one banged into the other. He turned off the light impatiently and climbed into bed, but thoughts would not leave him, the oppressive, stifling atmosphere of sorrow which lay broodingly over the household—why could not happiness come from a relationship like this?