tom, but perhaps not quite so bad as betel-nut chewing!

Then the Jap coughs nervously, and with an overwhelming apology for
daring to presume so far, explains that we ought to remove our
"honourable shoes" before entering the temple. Of course we do it at
once, though English shoes are not meant to take off and on at every
turn, and while we struggle with our laces he knocks on the woodwork of
the temple, and the sliding doors slip back along grooves, showing a
very aged priest who smiles and beckons us in; so we pass on, feeling
all the while conscious of the mystery of a country so utterly unlike
our own. Inside, the floor is covered with thick mats, so we do not miss
our shoes, though we step cautiously at first. It is very dim, but
gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the want of light and we see
lacquered screens, and little recesses, and bronze lamps, and curious
images. Though it is spotlessly clean, very different from the Hindu
temple, there is a strong smell of incense or burnt flowers or something
rather odd. Our friendly Jap has gone down on his knees and is bowing
his forehead to the ground, but we are not expected to do that
evidently.

Two weird figures in peaked caps, fastened under their chins by tapes,
have drifted out silently from somewhere and follow us as the priest
leads us round. There does not seem to be any one special shrine with a
central figure for us to see; perhaps there is one, but it is not shown
to foreigners. It is all vague and rather meaningless, and the carving
and decoration are unsatisfying. After a while, as there does not seem
to be anything more forthcoming, we drop a few coins into a bowl held
out to us and prepare to go. Just as we reach the door another strange
being in a peaked cap appears with tiny cups of clear amber-coloured tea
on a tray, and holds them out to us. The little cups have no handles,
and there is no milk in the tea, but on the tray are several rather
nice-looking little cakes, only, unfortunately, they are all the colours
of the rainbow--violet and green and scarlet. I utterly refuse to touch
them, but the English-speaking Jap assures me they are "nice," so you,
declaring that you are "jolly hungry," eat several and pronounce them
"jolly good." We sip the tea, which tastes utterly different from that
we have at home, and bowing all round again we put on our shoes and
descend the steps. I'm sure if I lived here long I should be quite fit
to take a positio