"Yes; do you know her?"
"She is at present the subject of diplomatic correspondence between the United States and Japan," said Kobo, with a smile. "She is the widow of Mr. Isidore G. Pottle, I presume; I knew him."
"How strange! But come, you must be famished."
Kobo walked slowly down the incline. Bob noticed that he limped.
"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.
"A slight touch in one foot."
"A sprain, perhaps. This is very rough walking."
"No, it was a Manchu bullet."
"Good heavens! You must be in terrible pain. Let me help you."
"It is nothing—a scratch."