CHAPTER XXI. "ME? I LIG' YOU."
For a moment Sinclair was at a loss what to say to Numè, and as she had not spoken he did not know whether she understood the English language or must be addressed in Japanese.
"Will you not let me get you a seat somewhere where there is not such a crowd?" he asked, speaking in English.
"Ess," she answered, looking almost helplessly at him, as Mrs. Davis came towards them with a fresh company of Americans, all eager to meet her. Numè belonged to the Kazoku order of Japanese (the nobles), the most exclusive class in Japan. They lived, as a rule, in the Province of Kyushu, and their women were supposed to be extremely beautiful, and kept in great seclusion, as the daughters of nobles usually are. Numè's father, however, had gone into business in Tokyo, and later had become a large land-owner there, so that the girl had mingled very little with her own class.
"I am going to take Miss Watanabe somewhere where she can breathe," Sinclair said to Mrs. Davis, and added: "Don't bring any more along just now. I judge by her face she is scared to death already."
The girl looked gratefully at him. "Ess, I nod lig' big crowd joyful ladies and gentlemen," she said, haltingly.
He found a couple of seats close by a window, where a soft breeze came through, and fanned her flushed little face. In spite of what Mrs. Davis had told her of Sinclair's not liking Japanese girls, with the usual confidence of a little woman in a tall man, Numè felt protected from the curious crowd when with him. She told him so with a shy artlessness that astonished him.
"Me? I lig' you," she said, shyly. "You are big—and thad you nod lig' poor liddle Japanese womans—still I lig' you jus' same."
"I like some of them," he said, lamely, confounded by the girl's direct words. "You see, I have not met any Japanese ladies, and the Japanese girls I have met always struck me as being—well, er—too gay to have much heart."
Numè shook her head. "Japanese girl have big, big heart," she said, making a motion with her hands. "Japanese boy go long way from home—see all the big world; bud liddle Japanese girl stay at home with fadder and mudder, an' vaery, vaery good, bud parents luf always the boy. Sometimes Japanese girl is vaery sad. Then account she stay at home too much, but she not show that she is vaery sad. She laugh and talk so thad the parents do nod see she is vaery sad."
Sinclair did not interrupt her. Her odd way of telling anything was so pretty and her speech so broken that he liked better to hear her talk. But the girl stopped short here, and looked quite embarrassed a moment. Then she said:
"Numè talk too much, perhaps?" Her voice was raised questioningly.
"No—no—Miss Numè cannot talk too much."
"Oa," the girl continued, smiling saucily, "Americazan girl talk too much also?"
"Sometimes."
"That you do not lig' liddle Japanese girl—do you lig' Americazan big proud girl?"
"No"—smiling. "Do you like the big proud American girl, Miss Numè?"
"Ess," she answered, half doubtingly. "Americazan lady is vaery pretty. Sometimes she has great big heart—then she change, and she is liddle, liddle heart—vaery mean woman."
"What makes you say that?"
"Oh! Numè watch everything," the girl answered, shrewdly.
Sinclair stayed by Numè's side almost the entire evening. She did not know how to dance; he did not care to; and as she told him quite candidly that she liked him to sit with her better than any one else in the room, he needed no further excuse. The girl's beauty and naivete captivated him, and in spite of her artlessness there were so many genuine touches of shrewdness and cleverness about her. Sinclair was converted into the belief that Japanese women were the most charming women he had met—at least, if the ladies were all as sweet and pretty as Numè.
During the evening Cleo Ballard paused in a dance, close by them. She had noticed the attention Sinclair had paid the girl from the beginning. He did not see her at first, but was looking with almost fascinated eyes into the strangely interesting face of the Japanese maiden. Sinclair had not once danced with Cleo through the entire evening, nor had he been by her side even. He had told her he did not like dancing, and on this plea had left her to the throngs of admirers who surrounded her, eager for a dance. There was a look of bitter pride on Cleo's face as she looked at him. In America Sinclair had always made it a point to attach himself almost scrupulously to her, and although she had always felt something lacking in his love for her, it pleased her that at least he had never given her cause to be jealous of any other women. Her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.
"Perhaps, Arthur, you will introduce me—to——to your friend?" she said.
The same pique that always irritated him so was in her voice now. It was, he told himself, the reminder to him of his bondage; for long ere this the man had admitted to himself that he did not love her. He was too staunch by nature, however, knowing her love for him, to break with her. He rose stiffly from his seat beside Numè, his face rather flushed.
"Certainly," he said, coldly, and pronounced the two girls' names.
Instinctively the woman nature in Numè scented a rival—possibly an enemy. She wished the American gentleman would sit down again. She could not understand why he should stand just because the beautiful shining American lady had wanted to know her. The American girl's partner tapped her lightly on the shoulder, reminding her of the dance, and once more she glided away, leaving a vague unrest behind.
"Is the beautiful Americazan lady your betrothed?"
The man started, though he evaded the question.
"What makes you ask that?"
"All of us have betrothed," the girl said, vaguely. "See, I will show you my betrothed. He stands over there now—talking to the same pretty Americazan lady."
"Takashima!" said Sinclair.
"Ess," the girl answered, happily.
Takashima was talking very seriously to Cleo Ballard. There was an impatient, almost pettish, look on her face. She seemed anxious to get away from him. Sinclair saw her make a motion to Mrs. Davis, and in some way the two women managed to get rid of the Japanese. They stood talking for a moment together, and Sinclair saw them look over in his direction. He noted Cleo's movements almost mechanically, his mind being more absorbed in what Numè had told him about her betrothal to Takashima.
"When does the wedding take place?" he asked, abruptly.
"Oh! I not know. We—Orito and me—do not like much to hurry, the fadders make great haste," she said.
Sinclair looked down at her thoughtfully, studying her with a strange pang at his heart.
"So you are Takashima's little sweetheart," he said, slowly. "He used to tell us about you in America. He said you were the prettiest thing on earth, and the boys didn't believe him, of course, but, after all—he spoke only the truth."
Again the girl smiled.
"When I was liddle, liddle girl," she said, "Orito carry me high way up on his shoulder. Now I grow big and polite, and he is that far away to me, and I thing' we are strangers."
The man was silent. "But I am vaery happy," she continued, "because some day I will be altogether with Orito, then we will be much luf for each other again."
"May you always be happy, little woman," Sinclair said, almost huskily. "Happiness is a priceless treasure; we throw away our chances of it sometimes recklessly, for a joy of a moment only."
Mrs. Davis' voice broke in on them. She looked quite coldly at Sinclair.
"Come, Numè," she said, "I want you to meet some other people."