some English book, flashed through her mind. Englishmen hated
scenes. She gripped herself resolutely and when he left his chair
and joined her she smiled at him bravely.

"See, all the djinns are gone, Bar-ree," she said with a little
nervous laugh.

He guessed the struggle she was making and chimed in with her
mood.

"Sensible fellows," he said lightly, tapping a cigarette on the
verandah rail. "Gone home to bed I expect. Time you went to bed
too. I'll just smoke this cigarette." But as she turned away
obediently, he caught her back, with a sudden exclamation:

"By Jove! I nearly forgot."

He took a tiny package from his pocket and gave it to her.
Girlishly eager her fingers shook with excitement as she ripped
the covering from a small gold case attached to a slender chain.
She pressed the spring and uttered a little cry of delight. The
miniature of Craven had been painted by a French artist visiting
Yokohama and was a faithful portrait.

"Oh, Bar-ree," she gasped with shining eyes, lifting her face like
a child for his kiss. She leaned against him studying the painting
earnestly, appreciating the mastery of a fellow craftsman,
ecstatically happy--then she slipped the chain over her head and
closing the case tucked it away inside her kimono.