Not a word, not a glance of the younger man that evening, had escaped him--he had been studying him with all the minute attention of that great, overweening brain that, from an origin of which he never spoke, had made him one of the foremost experimenters in Europe. The swift gleam in Phil's eye as he watched the _geisha_, the eager drinking in of the girlish daintiness, the colors and perfumes to which he stretched himself like a cat--the watchful, impassive eyes took note of everything. All Bersonin's talk had held an evil lure. It had touched on the extravagant and sensual vagaries of luxury, the sybaritic pleasures of the social _gourmet_, subjects appealing to the imagination of the youth whom he was examining like a slide under the microscope. They had stopped once at a _chaya_ for tea, but Phil had called for the hot native _saké_, and as its musty, sherry-like fumes crept into his blood he talked with increasing recklessness. Beneath their veiled contemptuousness, Bersonin's feline eyes began to harbor a stealthy satisfaction. He had guessed why Phil had suggested coming to Mukojima. The latter's restlessness, his anxious surveillance of the passers-by, might have enlightened a less observant spectator. Phil's new passion had, in fact, a strong hold on him. That long-ago picture of Haru, barefooted in the surf, frequent recollection had stamped on his brain and the sight of her fresh beauty to-day had fanned the coal to a flame. Those stolen kisses in the bamboo lane had roused a lurking devil that counted nothing but his own desires. For this hour, while the _saké_ ran in his pulses, the flame overshadowed even Bersonin. "Well, my boy," said the latter at length quizzically, "when you find her, just give me the hint and I'll go." Phil flushed, then laughed shortly. "So you are a mind-reader, too?" he said. "It's written all over you," said Bersonin. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have postponed our dinner and left you free for the chase. It _is_ a chase, eh?" "Yes," said Phil. "I--I haven't had much luck with her yet. I just happened to know she was to be here to-night. She's a pretty little devil," he added, "the prettiest I've seen in Japan." "The Japanese type is the rage in Paris now," said the other. "Take her there, dress her in jewels, and drive her through the _Bois_ some afternoon and you'll be the most talked-of man in France next morning." The red deepened in Phil's cheek. The prospect drew him. He looked at Bersonin. Paris and jewels! He drank more _saké_ at the next tea-house. It had begun to show in a shaking of the hand, a louder voice. Suddenly Phil sprang to his feet. "There she is!" he exclaimed. Bersonin looked. "Lovely!" he said, "I congratulate you. I'll walk back to the motor-car--the sights amuse me. You can come along when you please. Dinner will wait. And, anyway, what's dinner to a pretty woman?"