Custom insisted that my hostess urge my acceptance as she abased herself
by touching her forehead to her hands folded upon the floor.

Of course it ended by my occupying the cushion, and I was glad for the
interruption of tea and cake.

[Illustration: Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor, and
listlessly put out one hand to greet me]

Then equal in length and formality followed the ceremony of being
introduced to Kishimoto San's mother and widowed daughter, Mrs. Wingate.
The mother, old and withered, was made strong by her power as
mother-in-law and her faith in her country and her gods. The daughter
was weak and negative by reason of no particular faith and no definite
gods. The system by which she had been trained did not include
self-reliance nor foster individuality. Under it many of the country's
daughters grow to beautiful womanhood because of their gift of living
their own inner lives entirely apart, while submitting to the external
one imposed by custom.

By the same system other women are made the playthings of circumstance
and the soul is ever like a frosted flower bud.

Years ago a man, attracted by the soft girlishness and touched by the
adoring deference to his sex, bade this girl marry him without the
authority of her father. Nothing had been developed in her to resist
outside conditions. It was an unanswered query, whether it was because
of ignorance or courage, she braved displeasure, and followed the
strange man to a strange country. Sometimes the weakness of Japanese