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.