The Motor Maids in Fair Japan Part 27

Yoritomo Ito," said Mr. Campbell. "It's very evident that he belongs to the most conservative j.a.panese cla.s.s and clings to the old notions about wives and fancy dress costumes and such things."

"What did you say to him, Papa?" asked Billie.

"Oh, I was very polite, of course. I declined his offer, but that didn't surprise him, because in j.a.pan they never stop to consult a young lady about her choice. They make it for her and then inform her afterward. Was I right in my method of dismissing your suitor, Miss Nancy?" he asked, turning to the young girl with a certain charming manner that was peculiarly his own, half humorous and half deferential.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Campbell," exclaimed Nancy, a flush spreading over her face. "I am ashamed that it ever happened. I'm sure I never meant him to think--I'm sure I can't understand his presuming--"

"Never mind, child. Men propose the world over without any more grounds than that. They are all alike, yellow skins and white ones, and red ones, too," said Miss Campbell.

"Don't be so hard on us, Madam," put in Mr. Buxton, seizing the lady's parasol by force and holding it firmly over her head. "It's not our fault if we fall victims to a pair of blue eyes. You notice I say 'victims.' One pair has many, I presume."

Billie and Nicholas brought up the procession which was now moving slowly toward the pavilion.

"It's queer that I just learned something about Yoritomo last night,"

said Nicholas, "and I was going to tell you to-day."

"What is it?" asked Billie.

"He's divorced. You know they get them here on the slightest provocation--just change their minds after a few months or years and go to court, and one morning a wife finds herself without a husband, or children either, if he wants to take them."

"How perfectly outrageous for him to propose to Nancy!" cried Billie.

"You don't know who his first wife was, do you, Nicholas?"

"No, I didn't hear."

"I think I do," said Billie, after a moment's pause.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MAGNET AND THE SILVER CHURN.

"Is it your head, dear? Are you sure nothing else is involved? No indigestion or pains at the neck or burning at the pit of the stomach?"

"Perfectly certain, Miss Campbell," answered Nancy, with a wan smile.

"It's just one of those sick headaches like the one I had when I ate crab salad and peach ice cream that time. You mustn't stay at home on my account. O'Haru will look after me."

"But you haven't eaten crab salad and peach ice cream this time, child.

You haven't eaten anything, in fact. Your appet.i.te is getting smaller all the time."

"It's just the heat," said Nancy meekly. "I only want to stay in a darkened room and keep as cool as I can. I am sure I shall be all right by this evening and I wouldn't for anything interfere with the picnic to-day. It would make my head much worse. Really it would."

Each of the Motor Maids offered to stay home with Nancy, but she objected and protested so strongly that it looked as if she would work herself into a fever if they persisted. O'Haru was therefore left in charge of Nancy for the day, while the others, attired for an all-day picnic, gathered on the front piazza.

On the driveway stood the "Comet" and behind him at a respectful distance, like a servant behind his master, stood another car of an undistinguished character, hired in Tokyo. Into this last climbed Miss Campbell and Mr. Buxton, while Mr. Campbell took the front seat to run the car.

"Won't some little maid keep a lonely man company?" he called, and Mary Price responded promptly to this appeal. "I am the most honored man in the whole party," he said, gallantly jumping out and helping her in as if she were a small queen.

Mary smiled happily, but she felt in her heart that she was the most honored of all. No one had ever treated her with such deference and courtesy as this splendid big man who gazed down at her with a protecting air and listened to her rather timid conversation with absorbed interest.

It was a wonderful thing, Mary thought, almost too wonderful to be believed that a distinguished engineer who had been sent for by governments to build railroads and give advice about public improvements, would condescend even to notice a quiet little person like her. But the famous engineer was really a very simple man, as modest as she herself was and quite as gentle.

On the front seat beside Billie sat Nicholas, and Reginald was in the back with Elinor. Every laddie had a la.s.sie that morning, and Billie, who was a bit skeptical over Nancy's headache, wondered vaguely if this could have been the reason for her staying at home. But she put the thought away from her at once as being unworthy. Billie sighed and gave herself an impatient little shake. Her heart yearned for the old Nancy of the early days who seemed so changed now. She was determined never to mention the letter, but somehow it seemed always to stand between them. Both girls thought of it constantly, Nancy with remorse and bitterness for her own disloyalty, and Billie with a kind of puzzled sadness. After all, the two friends had much to learn about each other's natures.

Nancy on her bed in the darkened room was saying:

"If I only could prove to Billie and to all of them that I am not disloyal!"

Billie, guiding the "Comet" along the country road, was thinking:

"If Nancy would only be frank and tell me what's on her mind! How can we go on like this when we are drifting farther and farther away?"

The excursion to-day was of special interest to Mr. Campbell and his guests. They were riding forth to see Fujiyama (or "Fuji San," as the j.a.panese call it, "yama," meaning simply "mountain"), the sacred mountain of perfect beauty and s.h.i.+ning whiteness.

Once Saiki, their old gardener, had conducted them to a small elevation in the garden, and in a manner both reverential and proud, had pointed to a vista in the trees carefully made by lopping off certain branches.

There, in the background of a long, narrow perspective loomed the great mountain, exactly as it does in thousands of j.a.panese scrolls. Here, many a time, Mary had sat and watched the white cone s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight.

She understood why it was called the "Peak of the White Lotus," The low green hills at its feet were the leaves of the flower and the eight sided crater, perfect in symmetry, formed the petals.

The beautiful Fuji San, the most precious and revered object in all j.a.pan, is dedicated to a G.o.ddess, "the Princess who makes the blossoms of the trees to bear"; but pilgrims of every religious sect crowd its paths in warm weather and on its sides dwell holy men or "mountain wors.h.i.+ppers," who practice great austerities.

It seemed a little unfeeling to be so gay and light-hearted with Nancy unhappy and ill at home, but there was gaiety in the warm dry air, and it bubbled into happy laughter and chatter as they flew along the road.

"Have we brought everything?" called Billie over her shoulder. "The guitar and the tea basket and the luncheon hamper--"

"And the mackintoshes?" finished Nicholas.

Billie frowned and her face darkened.

"Everything but your raincoat, Billie," said Elinor, counting packages in the bottom of the car with the toe of her boot. "Did you forget it?"

"No, it had a torn place in it," answered Billie, still frowning.

An incident too trivial to mention, but too unusual to put lightly aside had caused her some annoyance that morning. She had closed the bureau drawer on a corner of her raincoat, hanging over her arm, and had torn the hem off one side.

"How stupid," she had exclaimed impatiently, tossing it into a chair.

"You'll have to lend me your blue raincoat, Nancy-Bell. I've just done for mine completely."

Nancy, lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall, did not reply.

Billie tiptoed to the foot of the bed to see if she was asleep, but the blue eyes were wide open staring at the wall paper.

"Will you lend me your raincoat, Miss Nancy?" repeated Billie, trying to be jocular to overcome the peculiar sensation of annoyance that had crept into her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," answered Nancy, in a low voice.

"Why not?"