“Am I beautiful enough, do you think?” I said, dropping my eyelids. “Only too charming!” he said bravely. I always think every gentleman whom I meet falls in love with me. I regarded Mr. Oscar Ellis already as an adorer. O sentimental Morning Glory! When I returned to Schuyler’s my mind was completely occupied with an absurd fancy. I was thinking what I shall do when he proposes to me. Shall I say yes? For a girl to fall in love with one while she is staying at his aunt’s isn’t romantic a bit, is it? I don’t care, anyhow, for an artist lover. It is a worn-out hero in old fiction. Doesn’t the word “artist” ring like a synonym for poverty? 22nd—Mrs. Ellis invited me to dinner. I went to Pasadena with Mrs. Schuyler, Jr. The evening was fragrant. After the dinner we stepped out to the garden. It was dusky. By and by, twenty Japanese lanterns were candled among the trees in my honor. I was in a sprightly bent. I was whispering a little Jap song, when Oscar led out two donkeys. Olive sprang upon the back of one in gracious audacity. “Jump, Morning Glory!” she exclaimed. I was wavering about my action, when I felt Oscar’s firm arms around my waist. My small body was lifted on to the donkey’s by his careless gallantry. What a sensation ran through me! It was the first occasion to put me into so close contact with a Meriken young man. My skirt was caught by the saddle. I made a whole exhibition of my leg. But I was glad the stocking was beautiful. Oscar held my bridle, pacing by my side. Alas! My donkey acted awfully. Did he take it as a degradation to be whipped by a Jap? Suddenly it dropped its honourable rump. I should have been pitifully thrown out, if my arm had not seized Oscar’s neck. I looked apologetically at him. He turned his delighted face. I could not stay a minute longer. When I got me off from the donkey, I observed the new moon over my right shoulder. “Good luck!” Olive San said. Why? Mr. Oscar began to whistle somewhat as follows: “Ho pop pop pop, ho pop pop pa!” 23rd—To-day is Mrs. Schuyler’s reception day. She set two Japanese screens in the drawing room, moving them from her chamber. She sprinkled a great lot of exotic bric-a-bric about. She opened a regular Chinese bazar which expressed every poor taste. Such confusion! I fancied she wanted the callers to recollect that she was Mrs. Ex-Consul of the Orient. Japan teaches nothing but simplicity. Simplicity is the philosophy of art. I wondered how she lived there without learning it. Every inch of Schuyler’s parlour means a heap of money. But is there anything more displeasing than tasteless luxury? Sufficiency is grateful, but superfluity is nothing but offence. I thought that Americans buy things because they love to buy, not because they have to buy. Meriken jin has to study the high art of concealing.