d wives;
and the more she thought over the subject, the more she envied Asako
her happy married life. She envied her with a woman's envy, which
seeks to hurt and spoil. She was smarting from her own disappointment;
and by making her cousin suffer, she thought that she could assuage
her own grief. Besides, the intrigue in itself interested her, and
provided employment for her idolent existence and her restless mind.
Of affection for Asako she had none at all, but then she had no
affection for anybody. She was typical of a modern Japanese womanhood,
which is the result of long repression, loveless marriages and sudden
intellectual licence.

Asako thought her charming, because she had not yet learned to
discern. She confided to her all her ideas about the new house; and
together the two girls explored Tokyo in the motor-car which Ito
provided for them, inspecting properties.

Asako had already decided that her home was to be on the bank of the
river, where she could see the boats passing, something like the house
in which her father and mother had lived. The desired abode was found
at last on the river-bank at Mukojima just on the fringe of the city?
where the cherry-trees are so bright in Springtime, where she could
see the broad Sumida river washing her garden steps, the fussy little
river boats puffing by, the portly junks, the crews of students
training for their regattas, and, away on the opposite bank, the trees
of Asakusa, the garish river restaurants so noisy at nightfall, the
tall peaceful pagoda, the grey roofs and the red plinths of the temple
of the Goddess of Mercy.

Just when the new home was ready for occupation, just when Asako's
enthusiasm was at its height and the purchases of silken bedding and
dainty trays were almost complete, Geoffrey suddenly announced his
intention of leaving Japan.

"I can't stick it any longer," he said fretfully, "I don't know what's
coming over me."

"Leave Japan?" cried his wife, aghast.

"Well, I don't know," grunted her husband, "it's no good stopping here
and going all to seed."

The rainy season was just over, the hot season of steaming rain
which the Japanese call _nyubai_. It had played havoc with Geoffrey's
nerves. He had never known anything so unpleasant as this damp,
relaxing heat. It made the walls of the room sweat. It impregnated
paper and blotting-paper. It rotted leather; and spread mould on boots
and clothes. It made matches unstrikeable. It drenched G