hen
cocked her bright eyes upon her master. "The tea-pot. It is honorably
empty. Shall I fill it?"

"Yes, yes; replenish it at once. I need hot tea. Shameless,
incredible; he has, indeed, the manners of a wild boar."

"Ma-a-a!" exclaimed the old woman. "Now of whom can my master be
speaking?"

"You know very well of whom I am speaking, goblin! Do you not always
listen at the shoji? Go, fill the pot!"

Mata glided from the room with the quickness of light and in an instant
had returned. Replacing the smoking vessel and maintaining a face of
decorous interest, she asked, hypocritically, "And was my poor Miss Ume
mortified?"

"Mortified?" echoed the artist with an angry laugh; "she admired him!
She clung to him as a creature tamed by enchantment. My daughter!
Never did I expect to look upon so gross a sight! Why, Mata----"

"Yes, dear master," purred the old dame encouragingly as she seated
herself on the floor near the tea-pot. "One moment, while I brew you a
cup of fresh, sweet tea. It is good to quiet the honorable nerves. I
can scarcely believe what you tell me of our Ume-ko, so modest a young
lady, so well brought up!"

"I tell you what these old eyes saw," repeated Kano. Once more he
described the harrowing sight, adding more details. Mata, well used to
his outbursts of anger, though indeed she had seldom seen him in his
present condition of indignant excitement, drew him on by degrees. She
well knew that an anger put into lucid words soon begins to cool. Some
of her remarks were in the nature of small, kindly goads.

"Remember, master, the poor creatures are married but a week to-day."

"Had I dreamed of such low conduct, they should never have been married
at all!"

"Of course he is n't worthy of her," sighed the other, one eye on
Kano's face.

"Nonsense! He is more than worthy of any woman upon earth if he could
but learn to conduct himself like a human being."

"That would take a long schooling."

"He is the greatest artist since Sesshu!" cried the old man, vehemently.

Mata bowed over to the tea-pot. "You recognize artists, master; I
recognize fools."

"Do you call my son a fool?"

"If that wild man is still to be considered your son, then have I
called your son a fool," answered Mata, imperturbably.

The new flush left the old man's face as quickly as it had come.
"Mata, Mata," he groaned, too spent now for further vehemence, "you are
an old cat,--an old she-cat. You