I asked the young man to come into the sitting-room and we soon heard
the story he had to tell.

He said his home had been in Texas. His father, an oil operator and
supposed to be very rich, died a bankrupt. He was the only member of the
family left, and he had recently started to the Far East to begin making
his fortune. By chance he had drifted into Hijiyama. He understood there
was a demand for teachers here. He was quite sure he could teach; but he
would have to go slow at first, for he was just recovering from a slight
illness.

"Have you been ill a long time?" I asked, striving to keep my fast
rising sympathy in hand.

"Y-es; no," was the uncertain reply. "You see, I don't quite remember.
Time seems to have run away from me."

"Were you ill before you left America, or after you sailed?" I inquired
with increasing interest.

The boy paled, flushed, then stammered out his answer. "I--I--I'm
sorry, but really I can't tell you. The beastly thing seems to have left
me a bit hazy."

A bit hazy indeed! It was as plain as the marks of his severe illness
that he was evading my question. His hands trembled so he could hardly
hold the cup of tea I gave him, so I pursued my inquiries no further. As
I was hostess to my guests, whoever they might be, I asked neither for
credentials nor the right to judge them, for their temptations had not
been mine.