The brown people look upon the scattering of things (however costly they be) as lower than barbarity. Japs believe in the sublimity of space. Isn’t it delightful to sit on the new matting of a Japanese guest-room? Its fresh whiteness used to cure my headache. Isn’t it taste to place just one seasonable picture on the tokonoma? So many a Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Smith called. They surrounded me. I asked myself whether they paid a visit to Mother Schuyler or to me. They incessantly threw the following questions at me: “How do you like America?” “How long do you expect to stay?” Such an inquisitive Meriken woman! I wished I had been bright enough to print a slip with my reply. Each lady wore four rings at least. Are they real things? Diamond is hardly my choice. Haughtily cold, isn’t it? I declared that their shapeless fingers were not fit to show without embellishment. If I had money for a ring I would use it for 365 pairs of silk stockings. Isn’t it a joy to change every day? Schuyler’s baby made a hit with its kimono. All the ladies kissed and kissed. The baby wondered at their act, rolling its eyes. Mother Schuyler was quite fussy with a little speech about the history of its Japanese gown. Funny old dear! 24th—Mr. Oscar Ellis came to paint me. Dear Oscar! I have never before left my face alone for such a close scrutiny. I was restless at first, fancying that he was gathering all my flaws. Then it happened in my thought that his absorption had something of religious devotion in it. I grew easy. I began to feel like a star with all the admirers in the earth. A garden tree sent its shadow through the window. The time passed as gracefully as a fairy on tiptoe. The air was purple. Oscar San chatted freely. I never took the part of a listener before in my life. I found listening honourable. “So you like the Oriental woman?” I said. He said American beauty was rather external, like a street shop window. He would like to know, he said, if there was any word more pathetic than “sayonara.” “Isn’t the Japanese woman like it?” he asked. I thought he was correct. He continued: “I read in a modern poet the following lines: ‘ .... full of whispers and of shadows, Thou art what all the winds have uttered not, What the still night suggesteth to the heart.’ Such is the vague Japanese beauty in my idea.” “I am not so nobly sweet, am I?” I exclaimed. He cast a strong look, as if he were trying to put his final judgment upon me. He moved his brush slowly on the canvas. I bowed a profound bow. “Gomen kudasai!” I said. And I laid me on the floor, stretching out my legs. [Illustration: Drawn by Genjiro Yeto “SO YOU LIKE THE ORIENTAL WOMAN?” ] 25th—I bought two dolls. One for Schuyler’s baby, as my Christmas gift.