Craven did not move.

"Try again, O Hara San."

A low bubble of girlish laughter rippled out.

"Please to come in, Bar-ree."

He turned slowly, looking bigger than ever by contrast with the
slender little Japanese girl who faced him. She was barely
seventeen, dainty and fragile as a porcelain figure, wholly in
keeping with her exquisite setting and yet the flush on her
cheeks--free from the thick disfiguring white paste used by the
women of her country--and the vivid animation of her face were
oddly occidental, and the eyes raised so eagerly to Craven's were
as grey as his own.

He held out his arms and she fluttered into them with a little
breathless murmur, clinging to him passionately.

"Little O Hara San," he said gently as she pressed closer to him.
He tilted her head, stooping to kiss the tiny mouth that trembled
at the touch of his lips. She closed her eyes and he felt an
almost convulsive shudder shake her.

"Have you missed me, O Hara San?" "It is a thousand moons since
you are gone," she whispered unsteadily.

"Are you glad to see me?"