This led me to a discovery one day when I caught sight of a dark-brown
velvet dress, and I knew that my promised pupil was inside it. Her
shining hair made me sure, and I guessed that the young man with whom
she walked was the ship's officer. The sight troubled me; but
interference except by invitation was not my part. I could do nothing
but wait.

However, so unusual a creature as Zura Wingate could neither escape
notice nor outspoken comment in a conservative, etiquette-bound old town
like Hijiyama. Through my pupils, most of them boys and eager to
practise their English, I heard of many startling things she did. They
talked of her fearlessness; with what skill she could trim a sail; how
she had raced with the crack oarsman of the Naval College; and how the
aforesaid cadet was now in disgrace because he had condescended to
compete with a girl. Much of the talk was of the girl's wonderful talent
in putting on paper Japanese women and babies in a way so true that
Chinda, a withered old man in whom the love of art was the only sign of
life, said, "Except for her foreign blood the child would be a gift of
the gods." I had dwelt too long in the Orient, though, to hear with much
peace of mind the girl's name so freely used and I discouraged the talk.

Even if I had thought it best to do so, there was no chance for a
repetition of my visit to Kishimoto San's house. The demands upon my
time and my resources were heavier than ever before. The winter had been
bitterly cold. As the thermometer went down and somebody cornered the
supply of sweet potatoes, the price of rice soared till there seemed
nothing left to sustain the working people except the scent of the early
plum flowers that flourished in the poorer districts. Sheltered by a
great mountain from the keen winds, they thrust their pink blossoms