said he came for. The law required the applicant for such a position to
answer questions concerning himself and all his ancestors. In my talks
with Page about this law I emphasized every detail of the intimate
questions that would be put to him. I tried to impress upon him the
necessity of having either a clean record, or a very clever tongue when
he went before the judgment seat of the Japanese authorities. I hoped my
seriousness would bring about a speedy explanation, denial,
declaration--anything, so it came quickly. The truth is I don't believe
he ever heard a word of what I said on the subject.

If Zura was out of the room, his eyes were glued to the door watching
for it to open. If she were present, his eyes would be fixed on her
face. If I made an excuse to leave the room, Page made another to keep
me, as if he feared the thing he most desired. What did it all mean? If
Page Hanaford could not explain himself honorably, what right had he to
look at the girl with his heart in his eyes? If no explanation could be
given, what right had Zura Wingate to grow prettier and happier every
day?

I had always believed that love was as simple and straightforward as
finding the end of a blind alley. There was good reason for me to change
my belief as the days passed and nothing was said on the subject.

Of course, I could have hauled the two up before me, like children, and
told them what I had seen and was still seeing; but I dreaded to force
the man's secret and I had to acknowledge that, for the time, I was no
more equal to guiding this thing called "love" than I was to instructing
birds to build a nest.

Jane was not a bit of help to me. Refusing to discuss anything except
the sentimental side of the affair, she repeated verse till I was almost
persuaded this poetical streak was a disease rather than a habit.
Between stanzas she proffered food and drink to Page, in quantities
sufficient to end quickly both man and mystery, had he accepted. Her
attitude to Zura was one of perfect understanding and entire sympathy.
Every time she looked at the girl, she sighed and went off into more
poetry.

Troubled thoughts stormed my brain as hailstones pelt a tin roof. I
prayed for wisdom as I had never prayed for happiness.

The announcement one day that Mr. Tom Chalmers had called caused no
sudden rise in my spirits, but a second card, bearing the name of Mrs.
Tom, somewhat relieved my mind. Their coming offered a diversion and