nveloped in a rosy
cloud of self-satisfaction. It was pleasing to be admired and still more
pleasing to feel that the admiration was justified.

The truth is, that admiration was quite as stimulating to Nancy as it is
to the rest of us, and when she realized that the young Japanese had
fallen an instant victim to her charms, she felt some pardonable pride in
the power of her blue eyes and bright curls.

By this time the others had returned to the pagoda-like summer house.

"Come, Nancy, dear," floated Miss Campbell's voice across the garden. She
was too careful a chaperone to permit one of her girls to wander
at dusk with a strange young Japanese.

Nancy quickened her pace. Nevertheless, she felt a little impatient with
all these restrictions.

"I am almost eighteen. I suppose I might be trusted to look after myself
occasionally," she thought with some irritation.

"May I not see you again to-morrow, Miss Brown?" Yoritomo was asking.

"I am afraid you'll have to ask Miss Campbell."

"It is now almost the American dinner hour," he went on thoughtfully,
looking at his watch. "If I should be strolling to-morrow at this time
down by the bridge, it would be very pleasant. We could have a few words
together."

"But--" began Nancy, and the voices of her friends interrupted her.

They had paused near a great bush of azaleas in full bloom. Almost over
their heads the silver crescent of the new moon hung poised like a fairy
scimitar. It was exquisite and unreal. Nancy felt somehow out of place in
the lovely picture, while the young Japanese, standing intense and rigid
beside her, was as much a part of the Oriental garden as the stone
lantern and the fragrant spice bush near the path. Even his blue serge
European suit seemed to have lost its values in the deepening shadows.

"If I come every day to see you, there would be great comment," he said
in a low voice. "But often I shall wait on the bridge about this time."

It was only a little time ago that Nancy's mother had lengthened her
little daughter's skirts from shoe tops to ankles. The line of the old
hem was still noticeable in some of her summer frocks. Just six months
since, Nancy had tucked up the bunch of curls into a Psyche knot and
transformed the ribbon bow into a velvet bandeau. Since she had been old
enough to go to parties she had had boy admirers who had said sweet
things to her. But this was quite different, and Nancy, almost eighteen,
and capable of l