I dressed all in silk. It’s proper, of course, for a Japanese girl. I chose cherry blossoms in preference to roses for my hat. Roses are acceptable, however, I said in my second thought, for they are given a thorn against affronters. I went to Miss Ada’s looking my best. They—six young ladies in a bunch—stretched out their hands. I was coaxed by their hailing smile. Ada kissed me. I had no charming manner in receiving a kiss before the people no more than in giving one. I blushed miserably. I knew I was bungling. O Morning Glory, you are one century late! They besieged me. None of them was so pretty as Ada. Beauty is rare, I perceive, like good tweezers or ideal men. I distributed my Japanese cards. All of my new friends held them upside down. Is it a modern vogue to be ignorant? Ada played skilfully her role of hostess, which was a middle-aged part. She didn’t even spill the tea in serving. Her “Sugar? Two lumps?” sounded fit. She divided her entertaining eye-flashes among us. Tea is the thing for afternoon, when woman is excused if she be silly. We all undressed our too-tight coat of rhetoric in the sipping of tea. We laughed, and laughed harder, not seeing what we were laughing at. I couldn’t catch all of their names. Such a delicious name as “Lily” was absurdly given to a girl with red blotches on her face. (A few blemishes are a fascination, however, like slang thrown in the right place.) Her flippancy was like the “buku buku” of a stream. Lightness didn’t match with her heavy physique. “How lovely an earthquake must be!” she chirruped. “Shall I go to Japan just on that account? A jolly moment I had last February. A baby earthquake visited here, as you know. I was drinking tea. The worst of it was that I let the cup tumble on to my pink dress. I prayed a whole week, nevertheless, to be called again.” Woman has nothing to do with a hideous make-up. Miss Lily should not select a pink hue. “You are awful!” I said. I told about the horror of a certain famous Japanese earthquake. They all breathed out “Good heavens!” There was one second of silence. Ada struck a gushing melody on the piano. The lively Meriken ladies prompted themselves to frisk about. I was ready to cry in my destitution. One girl hauled me up violently by the hand. “Come and dance!” Her arm crawled around my waist, while she directed: “Right foot—now, left!” I returned to Mrs. Willis’, my thoughts absorbed in a dancing academy. “I must learn how to skip,” I said. 24th—I hate the alarm clock, simply because it is always so punctual. “I was too late” is a delightful expression. “Mrs. Willis’ breakfast is at quarter-past eight!” Isn’t that “quarter-past” interesting? And I can never be ready before nine. 25th—I dragged my uncle off to the Chute to enrich my store of zoology. “One gape more, Uncle, to count up one dozen!” I said, and pulled his mustache in the car. It was lucky that no one saw my act.