“Well, don’t let’s go under the crust, tonight. I want my memories all as lovely as this.” She leaned forward. “Where are you taking us, Bill?” The young Japanese slowed down and turned deferentially. “There iss a place in the Imperial grounds, near the Emperor’s palace, that iss said to be of the loveliest in Japan. It iss said that the Emperor himself loves it. The windows of hiss personal suite look upon it. The Emperor sits long in those window, and dreams upon it. They have many names for it; ‘Pearl of Japan’ and ‘Window of Heaven’ and ‘Vision of the Heart’.” “Oh, do take us there, Bill!” “How will you get into the grounds?” asked David. “I understand the palace gates are locked and guarded at night.” “I was most graciously given permission that I should take you there. Usually only princes of the blood are allowed to be admitted at night.” At the gate of the Imperial grounds, two sentries sprang from the shadow. Orders had evidently been given them, however, for they glanced at Bill and saluted. They rolled forward into the soft and perfumed dusk of over-arching trees. Bill put the dimmers on, and the big car made scarcely a sound. “Do you know,” said David after a silence, “I have a feeling that this is the greatest concession they have made us; the greatest compliment. To bring us into the Emperor’s grounds at night, to see a view! Even if he is away, everything belonging to the royal family is guarded as though sacred. It’s queer!” On and on they went, until a sudden turn brought them to an arch made of flowering trees, cut and woven and trained into a perfect bow. They passed under it and on into a denser shade, and suddenly beheld the vista they had come to see. Bill stopped the car. In awed silence they regarded the serene beauty of the view. Beyond the black shadow of the trees, the water lay like sheets of dazzling silver. At the water’s edge, grass and flowers assumed new tints, shadows were purple, and far in the distance the Sacred Mountain seemed to float like an opalescent bubble in the ether. Overhead hung the great golden moon. At last Dulcie spoke in a whisper, “Thank you, Bill!” And understanding, as always, Bill turned the car and returned to the great gate. Dulcie was silent all the way to the hotel. When she stepped out, she turned impulsively to Bill. “I’ll never forget this evening, Bill. I wish I could do something nice for you.” She unclasped her bag, but there was a queer dignity about Bill that forbade a tip. She snapped it shut. “You speak English so well; if you are ever in New York, find my father. I’d perfectly love to have you for my chauffeur.” The young man’s eyes suddenly danced. “It is that I thank you, Miss Hammond. I’ll not forget,” he said.