Upon her asking for more particulars I repeated what Kishimoto San had
told me. The girl's father was an artist by profession and, as nearly as
I could judge, a rover by habit. Of late the family had lived in a
western city. I was not familiar with the name Kishimoto San gave; he
called it "Shaal."

"Oh," cried my companion, "I know. I lived there once. It's Seattle."

Occasionally there shot through Jane's mind a real thought, as luminous
as a shaft of light through a jar of honey. I would have never guessed
the name of that city.

"Then what else happened?" she continued, as eagerly as a young girl
hearing a love story.

I told her it had not happened yet, and before it did I was going to
call at the house and see the girl as I had promised and settle upon the
hour she was to come for daily lessons. Meantime Jane was to take her
nap, her milk, and her tonic without my standing over her. In her
devotion to her profession she was apt to forget the small details of
eating and resting.

My craving for things to happen was being fed as fast as a rapid-firing
gun in full action. I found waiting very irksome but there was a cooking
class, a mother's meeting, two sets of composition papers to be
corrected and various household duties that stubbornly refused to adjust
themselves to my limited time.

At last, however, I was free to go and delayed not a minute in starting
on my visit.