Barbara turned away. Again she felt the edge of mystery, bred of the unguessable divergence between the moral Shibboleths of West and East. It caught at her like the cool touch of dread that chills the strayer in haunted places. In a hundred ways this land drew her with an extraordinary attraction; now a feeling of baffled perplexity and pain mingled with the fascination. It was almost a sort of terror. If in two days Japan offered such passionate variety, such undreamed contrasts and subtleties, what would it eventually show to her? Could she ever really know it, understand it?
"There is a theater near here where Sada Gozen is playing," she said. "Can you take me there?"
He nodded. "The Raimon-za—the Play-House-of-the-Gate-of-Thunder. It is more five minutes of distant."
He conducted her through a maze of narrow streets and pointed to the building, which she saw with a breath of relief. Taking out her purse she put a bill into his hand. "Thank you," she said, "and good night."
"I shall go with Madame at her hotel."
She shook her head. "I can find my way now."
"But Madame—"
"No," she said decidedly.
He stood a moment swinging his cane, looking after her with impudent almond eyes. Then he lighted a cigarette, settled his derby at a jaunty angle and sauntered back toward the Yoshiwara.