Billie and her friends rushed from one room to another in a state of
eager curiosity. They poked their inquisitive little noses into the
charming bedrooms and even peeped into the mysterious kitchen quarters
where O'Haru reigned supreme,

"It's Japanese enough to be pretty and American enough to be
comfortable," observed Nancy, arranging her curls at one of the bedroom
mirrors.

"I don't know why you call it 'American,'" objected Billie. "I think you
should say 'international,' since beds may be imported from Turkey,
Russia, Prussia, England, or France, to say nothing of Germany and
Italy."

"Well, no matter what nationality it is, I'm glad I'm going to sleep on a
bed instead of on the floor as Japanese girls do, with a little bench for
a pillow to keep from rumpling my hair."

Just then a Japanese girl appeared in the doorway. She was quite young,
perhaps seventeen, perhaps older, and enchantingly pretty.

"Her eyes are like stewed prunes," wrote Nancy to her mother that night,
"rich and black and luscious. Her hair is as black as father's ebony box
and quite as shiny; her skin smooth and creamy. She has a little rosebud
mouth and a small straight nose and she wore the most beautiful kimono,
all blue with a cerise sash or _obi_, as it is called. Her name is
'Onoye' and she's the daughter of the cook, O'Haru. She is just one of
the maids in the house, I suppose, but she seems better class and she
speaks a little English. Her mother adores her and I suppose Onoye is
being spoiled Japanese fashion, which is very different from American