For days he went about in a state of irritating . What should be his next step? There was no good reason for seeking further speech with the Viscount for the present. Obviously the alternative was to to meet her on her way to or from the office, but this method was distasteful to him, too much of lying in wait for her, stalking her, as might a roué on philanderous enterprise. On the other hand, his conscience troubled him. Here it was possible, even likely that this girl might hold the key to his story, might give him the starting point which he needed. He owed to his paper. He felt that he was caught in a from which he might not himself honorably.  
One morning, at the Foreign Office, young Kikuchi dropped a chance remark that his father had gone to Odawara for a few days. The idea struck Kent that here lay the way out. Fate seemed to have thrown the solution in his way, so he might see her without resorting to slinking contrivances. He looked at his watch. It was half-past eleven; this was Saturday and quite likely she would leave at noon. He hurried to her office. She was evidently about to leave.
 
"I am sorry. The Viscount has gone to the country." He thought he detected a hint of in her eyes. Did she suspect him?
 
Would he have some tea? She came to his rescue before he had bethought himself of the next step. What a that eternal tea-drinking ceremonial[Pg 155] could prove at times. Why, of course, he should like it very much.
 
So again he found himself in one of the Viscount's great chairs, alone with her. She brought the tray with tea and cigarettes. His success made him bolder. "Have some with me, please do."
 
It startled her a little. "Why, of course not."
 
"Why not? It is the custom in foreign countries, and I am a foreigner. Please?"
 
She smiled at his earnestness and gave in. Presently they were tea together. The scene assumed an air of . They chatted pleasantly. The light silk shawl about her shoulders gave him a cue. "You're about to go out, are you not. I really shouldn't keep you, but——"
 
"No, it's all right. It is Saturday, and I was thinking of going to the pictures."
 
The pictures! So she was another of Japan's millions of movie worshipers who form their ideas of Western civilization from the life of the cinema, Wild West pictures of cowboys rescuing lovely heroines from Indians and bandits, dainty damsels in madly , love scenes in upholstered of , gun-play and murder in city streets—all the wildly gyrating, which Japan seriously believes to be representative of life on the other side of the ocean. The thought of the of most of the Tokyo movie theaters, ramshackle fire-traps crowded with squirming, humanity, in the afternoon heat, him; still, it would not matter.
 
"I like the pictures very much too," he lied. "I wish you would let me go with you."
 
But she shook her head . No, a foreigner and a Japanese girl! It was too unusual.
 
[Pg 156]
 
"But are you then so old-fashioned?" He her quick frown. He had gained a little. "Are you then one of these Japanese who, like the old shoguns, want to hold Japan apart from the rest of civilization?" Now he knew he had the right argument.
 
She flashed at him. "I am not old-fashioned." Her tone a little. "But, of course, you know it is a little unusual for a Japanese girl and a foreign man to go on the street together."
 
He sensed that he had won and made no further argument, only rose and waited while she took away the tray. Together they went down the steps.
 
"And now where?" he asked.
 
"Why, Uyeno, of course, the art exhibition. I thought you——"
 
He hastened to cut her short. "Yes, I know. But it is far. Let us have tiffin first. Where? What do you prefer, Japanese or foreign food."
 
He knew she would prefer the rare experience of a foreign restaurant, as Japanese girls almost invariably do. They went to one of the best in Tokyo, a large, airy place modern, a hot, wet towel in a small wicker tray, for wiping the face after the meal, being the sole to Japanese custom. As he sat facing her, he watched appreciatively the dainty grace with which her slim fingers, long practiced in manipulation of chopsticks, managed easily the silver. She was enjoying it, flushed a little, happily. He knew he would gain pleasure from this friendship.
 
He wished to call a taxi, but she restrained him. "No, Uyeno is not so far. We will go by tram."
 
But why bother about a crowded tram? Taxis were not such a luxury.
 
"But they are a luxury. Why should we spend[Pg 157] money needlessly when the masses of the people must ride in trams or even walk. It is wrong." Her earnestness amused him. The deep seriousness of her expression lent her a charm as that of a child artlessly philosophizing. What odd surprises they held, the minds of these Japanese girls, ideas shaped from impressions gained God knows where. They compromised on an auto-bus.
 
The exhibition was crowded. It had always pleased him to note the character of the people who such places, art galleries, concerts, theaters, high and low, rich and poor, a great number, in fact, persons to whom even the smallest fee must mean sacrifice of some material need. And here they were, as usual, small merchants, poorly paid artisans, some even fairly close to the coolie type, solemnly, seriously viewing the pictures, saying but little, absorbing, gratifying a natural, spontaneous love of beauty. What would happen to a New York bricklayer should he suggest to his mate that they go to see the Art Gallery? The contrast of the idea amused him.
 
They went through the Japanese art section first. He always enjoyed this part the best, for while he had small technical knowledge of art, he sensed a subtle gratification from the perfection which the artists of Nippon had in this field of their own where century after century of striving lovers of beauty had succeeded in gradually climbing higher and higher towards fashioning in concrete form the of their vision. The eye rested, filled itself with the wealth of delicate beauty of pure, surely lines, marvelously blended symphonies of color, almost imperceptible nuances of shade and , a of carefully elaborated details which the to weld into [Pg 158]balanced, full-toned consonance. There were the tremendous six-leafed screen paintings, incidents from legend or history of Japan, in armor with long two-handed swords, with bow and quiver, women in kimono and elaborate coiffure, or, of even more ancient period, in simple flowing robes and with hair falling loose over their shoulders, reminiscent of the art of China, the original inspiration whence Japan had worked out that which was now her glorious own. There were landscapes on screen or , serrated crag and cliff with gnarled pines overhanging stream or glittering waterfall; and charming bits of life of old, or still existing but ever disappearing Japan,—dancers in , young girls in boats, slender lily hands lying languidly in waters, brown old men, in hand, the rice, each ear of hundreds drawn with veritable botanical accuracy of detail, still retaining the free, swaying grace of nature.
 
It always cost him an effort to leave this section to enter that to art after Western fashion, which was constantly, year after year, encroaching on, elbowing out of the way that fashioned after the ideals of old Japan. A few years ago there had been only a couple of these modern rooms; now those of the old and the new were almost even; soon the latter would predominate entirely. It seemed such a pity; it irritated him, the of this march of progress? Still, it was in its way more instructive than the other, gave concrete, illustration of the ideas and ideals of the young generation, what it was seeking, striving for, more or less uncertainly, but always coming nearer to the goal ever before it, mastery of the modern, the new culture.
 
They were improving. Every year the exhibitions showed more certain mastery of technique, better grasp[Pg 159] of the spirit of the French art which seemed to be the almost universally accepted school. Kent admitted it to himself ; every step in advance in this direction meant defeat of the old. What would it all amount to, after all? Even if, with their amazing facility for copying, for imitation, they might produce work which was creditable, which might pass even in Europe, as, in fact, some of the things he saw before him might, they would probably never climb out beyond the , would never original achievement. There were some very good portraits, excellent flower pieces, though, of course, this was but natural, considering that this subject was a preëminent favorite with the Japanese schools. Even some of the landscapes were undeniably fine, though, he noted, this was the case especially where some Oriental subject had been chosen, great, carved junks with blood-red sails glaring in the sunlight against a faint blue sky; mountain scenes following largely the composition of kakemono subjects, the of the latter being replaced by the more massive boldness made possible by the medium of canvas and oils.
 
He felt that he was ungenerous; still it irritated him that they should be making such headway in their apostacy. Only the gave him an incongruous sense of satisfaction. They were atrocious and the exhibit was with them. In the old art of Japan, kakemono, color-print and screen, they were virtually unknown, but during the last few years the craze for them had swept over the moderns like an ; the very fact that they were new to Japan, the sense that they were unconventional, modern, outré, was the reason. So there they were, scores of them, clumsy masses of female flesh, , in all sorts of absurd and[Pg 160] contorted attitudes—and all these women were not , they were naked. The conception of the spirit, the idea of their French masters, the verve, the élan, they had missed it all. The paintings were bad, and the sculpture, with which the rooms were filled, was worse. Evidently these young had rushed fanatically intent to place on canvas something naked; almost anything would do. The clumsy, paunchy forms, shapeless limbs, invariably thick ankles, all seemed to indicate that they had found their models where best they might, among country wenches and servant maids, bringing forth on canvas or from clay lumps of flesh, utterly soulless reproductions of female kind.
 
Did they really wish to convey the idea that Japanese women looked like that? Did they wish, barbarously, to the conception of the musume, delicate, graceful, beautiful, and to substitute therefor as the ideal mere worship of flesh of the flesh? Damn them, it seemed such stupid, wanton , brutishness even; a grossly libel on the womanhood of Japan. He glanced at Adachi-san, slender, dainty, flower-like. How was such a grotesque misconception possible?
 
He felt that she should have resented all this; but she was interested, far more absorbed in the moderns than she had been in the exhibits after the ancient mode. This was the section which young Japan enjoyed. Here the art students thronged, proud of their achievements or those of their fellows, young men with jackets and trousers, flowing ties and broad-brimmed, flapping hats. Their coarse, black hair flowed loosely down to their shoulders; those who could manage it had painstakingly cultivated little Van beards. Nearly all wore enormous, horn-rimmed spectacles. Here they were in their[Pg 161] element, prideful, self-certain in their assurance that they had advanced far beyond the hoi polloi, that they were the leaders. they would form groups, point out, discuss, criticize or go into .
 
Evidently Adachi-san was quite well known here. Young fellows would bow to her, some would even address a few short remarks. She was plainly enjoying it all; she tried to communicate some of her enthusiasm to Kent, called his attention to work which she thought was well done. She even used some of the technical patter of the students. He wished he had been better informed in art, that he might have placed in convincing form the criticism which for expression. He was relieved when they left the exposition and began their return through Uyeno Park.
 
They found a seat at the edge of an slope where they had a wide view of the city. "You didn't care for it, Kent-san?" Her voice conveyed her disappointment.
 
"But I did. I like the truly Japanese things immensely; but that's just it, even though much of the modern stuff is very good—I won't deny it—it seems to me such a pity that Japan should sacrifice the values of her own art merely to trade them for imitations of that of the West which the other countries can do better than she can; just as Japan in all other things is throwing away her own which suit her,—her dress, her architecture, her manners, only to replace them with shoddy foreign clothes that don't suit Japanese figures; ramshackle hodgepodge buildings after no style at all; and all the rest. And then these student fellows. Can't you see that with most of them it is all pose?"
 
A couple of the artists passed, bowed . He raised his hat to them.
 
"But it isn't pose, at least with only a few of them.[Pg 162] If you only knew how some of them slave and for the ideals they have, you wouldn't talk like that. They may seem absurd to you, or funny even, but I tell you, you would have a different idea of them, if you only knew them."
 
"Yes, I daresay they must be interesting to know." Throughout the afternoon he had sensed an indefinite that she seemed to be so familiar with them. How did she come to know them so well? It was not , still, honestly, it might be something fairly close to that. But the whole thing irritated him. He wanted to get away from it, to some other subject. "It is getting quite late, Adachi-san. Let us have dinner somewhere."
 
But she would not get away from it. "Thank you very much, Kent-san. You're too good to me. But if you really think they may be interesting, why shouldn't we go to one of the places where they eat, right near here. Kent-san, you are the only foreigner whom I know, and you seem to be such, such a , and I want you to see our side of it. You foreigners ought to be the ones to help us, you know. I want you to, please." The slim, white hand was on his sleeve. She was looking at him earnestly, appealingly almost.
 
Hang it, the power which these eyes had over him; they could make him do anything, he felt. Of course, in a way, that was what he wanted, to allow himself complete abandon, drifting, dreaming under the spell of that glorious, beauty, to let himself go under the hypnotism of her charm. But this was something entirely different; the injection of the element of intellect spoiled the whole thing. It was her beauty, not her brain he wished to enjoy, as one might be dreamily by the spell of a picture, unheeding the mechanics to which it owed being. That[Pg 163] was her function, beauty. Why should she disrupt the harmony by bringing in thought, this , new thought that seemed like a plague of fever the new generation? "Our" side of it, she said. He wanted her to be Japan of droning temple bell, slender , rich, silks, not the Japan of steam, electricity and new thought. But her earnestness softened him. He would make the best of it. To-day, they had fallen into the wrong setting. He would contrive, next time, one more congruous with the idea which he had in mind.
 
"All right, Adachi-san, you shall be the guide."
 
She was radiant. "Kent-san, you are so good. I want you to be pleased, and I feel that you are not pleased, but I want you to know us too, me and my friends, and to like us, if you can."
 
They passed down the broad stone steps into a vast space of clanging street cars and jostling crowds. Then down a side street, a few blocks. She to a sign, a female, presumably representing art or some such abstraction, holding in one hand a palm leaf and in the other a paintbrush. Over it was the , in kata-kana characters, "kafue montomarutoru"; of course, that meant "café Montmartre."
 
He knew scores of the queer new cafés of Tokyo, but this one was of a type new to him. There were the same rickety tables and chairs, but crowding the walls, leaving scarcely an inch of clear space, were vast oil paintings, tremendous stretches of canvas, all nudes, in every possible position and surrounding, in bath houses and by mountain pools, posing in front of mirrors or just upright vacantly, without apparent intention at all; huge figures, clumsy, ill-formed, a mass of light-brown or pink, indelicate flesh and dominating the entire room.
 
 
 
The tables were crowded, the long-haired, bespectacled ones had evidently here a habitat, a............