"I say, Harry (Miss Ten Eyck’s first name was Harriett) let’s have some tea." "Tom, you’re a genius! Won’t it be fun! Of course we must have some tea. What a lark! And you can smoke if you want to." "This is the way one ought to see places," said Hillegas, as he lit a cigarette; "just nose around by yourself and discover things. Now, the guides never brought us here." "No, they never did. I wonder why? Why, we just found it out by ourselves. It’s ours, isn’t it, Tom, dear, by right of discovery?" At that moment Hillegas was sure that Miss Ten Eyck was quite the most beautiful girl he ever remembered to have seen. There was a daintiness about her—a certain chic trimness in her smart tailor-made gown, and the least perceptible tilt of her crisp hat that gave her the last charm. Pretty she certainly was—the fresh, vigorous, healthful prettiness only seen in certain types of unmixed American stock. All at once Hillegas reached across the table, and, taking her hand, kissed the little crumpled round of flesh that showed where her glove buttoned. The China boy appeared to take their order, and while waiting for their tea, dried almonds, candied fruit and watermelon rinds, the pair wandered out upon the overhanging balcony and looked down into the darkening streets. "There’s that fortune-teller again," observed Hillegas, presently. "See—down there on the steps of the joss house?" "Where? Oh, yes, I see." "Let’s have him up. Shall we? We’ll have him tell our fortunes while we’re waiting." Hillegas called and beckoned, and at last got the fellow up into the restaurant. "Hoh! You’re no Chinaman," said he, as the fortune-teller came into the circle of the lantern-light. The other showed his brown teeth. "Part Chinaman, part Kanaka." "Kanaka?" "All same Honolulu. Sabe? Mother Kanaka lady—washum clothes for sailor peoples down Kaui way," and he laughed as though it were a huge joke. "Well, say, Jim," said Hillegas; "we want you to tell our fortunes. You sabe? Tell the lady’s fortune. Who she going to marry, for instance." "No fortune—tattoo." "Tattoo?" "Um. All same tattoo—three, four, seven, plenty lil birds on lady’s arm. Hey? You want tattoo?" He drew a tattooing needle from his sleeve and motioned towards Miss Ten Eyck’s arm. "Tattoo my arm? What an idea! But wouldn’t it be funny, Tom? Aunt Hattie’s sister came back from Honolulu with the prettiest little butterfly tattooed on her finger. I’ve half a mind to try. And it would be so awfully queer and original." "Let him do it on your finger, then. You never could wear evening dress if it was on your arm." "Of course. He can tattoo something as though it was a ring, and my marquise can hide it."