black and purple dress hanging limp around him. He bowed low and softly.
Mr. Brooks bowed back; then this Japanee turned to bow again and again,
till I began to tremble for his neck, but he went through it all like a
man; and when the whole lot had been bowed to, Mr. Brooks introduced
them to me and the other ladies.

Mr. Iwakura seemed to remember that he'd seen me a-doing honors at the
White House, for he bowed clear down till I thought his glazed
punch-bowl would fall off, and his black veil stuck right out straight;
but he rose again as if his joints had been oiled, and said something
that sounded soft as cream, and sweet as maple-sugar, but what it all
meant goodness only knows.

Then another heathen Japanee stepped forward, and says he:

"The Embassador wishes to say he is delighted to see a lady author, who
is an honor to her country."

Here I laid one hand on my heart, and bent my head a little, not exactly
knowing what else to do; and I said, with what I hope was becoming
modesty:

"Oh! your Highness--is it Highness--Excellency, or High Cockolorum?" I
whispered to the lady who stood next me.

"Excellency," whispered she back again.

"Oh, your High Excellency," says I; for, being by nature a conservative,
I took what seemed best out of each. "You are too complimentary."

With that I made him a curtsey that over-matched his bow, for there was
more of it a good deal, on account of his smallness, and my height, in
which we were both a little peculiar.

The Embassador looked as if he hadn't time to answer; for he was busy
bowing to the other ladies, and the rest of the Japanese all came up,
and there was such a slow bending time among 'em that it was ten minutes
before there was anything else done. Then we got a little mixed, and
seemed to be ladies altogether, only those who were going in to dinner
seemed to carry their own punch-bowls on their heads; as for dresses and
so on, we were pretty much alike, and the master of the house in his
black coat, and so forth, seemed the only man among us.

By and by Mr. Iwakura came back to where I was standing, and the young
man came with him to do up the talking.

"I have never before seen a lady that wrote books," says he, in the
sweetest manner; which the other repeated in English that wasn't half so
musical.

There was an inward struggle in my mind; the compliment was sweet, and I
longed to keep it; but truth is truth. My foot is on the threshold; I
have lo