"Li'l boy like you!" she rippled, "li'l boy like you! Merrit San him
so long when he make Japanese bow he come down from top like big
bamboo-tree--so!" Putting her hands high above her head, she bent till
the tips of her fingers touched the floor. Still bent, she twisted her
head till her eyes, bright with laughter, looked straight into
Merrit's.

He lifted his eyebrows quizzically. "See here, Yuki San, you are fast
developing the symptoms of a coquette."

She quickly straightened her back, and with a smile of bewilderment,
exclaimed:

"Me croquette? No, no; croquette, him li'l chicken-ball what you eat.
I no can be eat!"

Merrit shouted with delight, then grew grave.

"No, Yuki San, you don't ever want to be a coquette. You want to be
your sweet little self, and make a good wife to that handsome soldier
Saito, with all his gold braid and dingle-dangles. But what about
breakfast? You see, my train leaves in an hour. If you don't give me
something to fill my honorable insides, I'll have to eat you, sure
enough."

In mock fear she quickly brought a low table from an inner room, and
with deft hands placed the steaming soup and broiled fish before him.
The knife and fork were a concession to Merrit's inability to wield
the chopsticks, and sitting on his heels was Merrit's concession to
the inability of the house to provide a chair.