I nearly cried in my excitement at such a pathetic revelation. Lovely thing! The baby had blue eyes. My preference wasn’t for blue eyes. I often snapped at them, saying that they were like a dead fish’s eyes. But how long can I keep up my ill-will, when I look with delight upon the blueness in water, sky and mountain? Isn’t it precious to see the blue pictures on china? A blue pencil is just the thing to mark on the margin of a pleasing book. Blue is a poetical hue. Robert Burns was blue-eyed. I recalled the first American I met in Tokio, who seriously questioned whether it was a fact that Japs butcher a blue-eyed baby. Bakabakashii wa! Japan has no blue eye. And Japanese are worshippers of any sort of baby. If American babies were like Chinese girls! I would pile up all my coins to buy one. Meriken baby understood how to smile before how to cry. It is a lady or gentleman already. I will serve as baby’s nurse if I must support myself. It’s a high task to be useful to the baby, and watch its growth as a silent astronomer watches the stars. I wish I could roll the baby’s carriage day after day. How sweetly the world would be turning then! Shall I hire Schuyler’s baby for one day? 8th—Is there any more gratifying word than dinner? I had a “hipp goo’” dinner. (Permit a Chinese-English expression for once.) Its inviting heaviness was like an honourable poem by Milton. Schuyler’s house has a Miltonic presence. Electric light is too imposing. Candelabra are like a moon whose beams are a lenitive song. The nude shoulders of Mrs. Schuyler, Jr., crimsoned in the rays from the candelabra. The exposure of some part of the skin is the highest order of art. How to show it is just as serious a study as how to clothe it. If I had such supreme shoulders as hers, I would not pause before displaying them. What falling shoulders are mine! The slope of the shoulders is prized in Japan. Amerikey is another country, you know. I appeared at the dinner in my native gown. The things on the table had a high-toned excellence. I will not forget to have my initials engraved if I happen to buy any silver. Coffee was served. I felt that an old age had returned, when eating was only a dissipation. I’m growing to love Meriken food. I am glad that I don’t see any musty pudding at Schuylers’, a sight that makes me ten years older. And another thing I hate is the smell of cabbage. How pleased I was to see a “chabu chabu” of shallow water in my finger bowl! Just a glimpse of water is tasty. Our taciturn butler retired from the dining-room with graceful dignity. The butler has ceased to be a common servant. He has advanced, I suppose, to the rank of an ornament of the Meriken household. The sister of Mother Schuyler and her husband dined with us. The funniest thing about her was that she kept a few long hairs on her cheek. They grew from a mole. It may be good luck to preserve them.