"Amy, dear, why have you been crying?" asked Pearl in her soft voice, laying her hand on her cousin's arm.
"Now my dear Pearl, don't be silly; have you ever seen me cry?"
"Yes, often. Tears are as near your eyes as smiles are to your lips, you April day. But tell me, what is wrong?"
"Look here, Pearl," answered Amy, raising her sleek head while her eyes flashed, "I won't be bothered. And if I choose to cry I shall cry, so there."
"Certainly, my dear, and as I came to see Rosina and not you, I have no wish to disturb you in such a profitable occupation. So I'll take my departure. Addio," and Pearl turned towards the door.
She hadn't got far, however, before she felt two strong arms round her waist and various energetic kisses upon the back of her neck.
"Come back, Pearl darling. Have some tea and don't be crusty. Why, I have just been longing for you. Aunt Rosy is no good, she doesn't understand me, and never will understand me; so it's no use trying to make her."
"I should like to know who does," said Pearl.
"Well, you do. So I am just going to tell you all about it. Come here and sit on the windowsill. Give me your hand, and let us look at Fuji till the light dies away."
And during a quarter of an hour's silence they watched Fujiyama that rose up dim and indistinct against the setting sun. There it stood in all its solemn majesty, solitary in all its grand repose, superb in all its noble isolation. The dark lights grew fainter and more indistinct, the brilliant blood-red sky with its shifting gleams took paler shades, till little by little it seemed to mingle with the misty colouring of the lonely peak, and behold, even as they watched, night fell, enshrouding all in its vast impenetrable mantle.