[EXIT R.
Mimosa. Yuki thinks the exalted Princess will happily forget. I know that her heart is breaking; when our hearts break we laughter-loving die. I remember well the fear-bringing words of Sakara. Those who speak and laugh with barbarian devils bring curses on themselves and those they love. Have a care, O Kiku, lest you droop like one of the noble chrysanthemums they named you from. To her honorable dwelling I will go with pleasant, courteous words, and presents in my hand. There is no standing without stooping. She will hear if I speak humbly. To the shrines of the great all-powerful ones I will creep, and they, the merciful, the strong, will hear the humble prayers of Mimosa. (Starts to go off L. as curtain falls.)
CURTAIN.
SCENE III.—Interior of a room in a Japanese hotel. Table C., with faded white chrysanthemum on it. Chair up stage, C. Open portmanteau, L. Coats, etc., R. 1 E.
ENTER Miss Prendergast.
Miss P. I am afraid all these expeditions will be too much for the young people. I intend looking over my dear boy’s wardrobe—I mean his lordship’s wardrobe. (Crosses L.) Maitland is an excellent servant, but I feel anxious about socks. Dear, dear! how untidy this portmanteau looks! (Kneels down by one.) Ah, this is a sock; there is a hole. (Produces thimble, etc., draws chair to L. of table.) No wonder he has a cold. Dear me! I would not allow any one to know it for the world, but the memory of a dear little boy is kept warm in my heart. (Hands rest in lap.) What dear, coaxing ways he had—how I loved the touch of his arms! Well, they say the heart of a woman at sixty-nine is the same as that of a young girl. Not (works briskly) that I am sixty. Far, far from it! I feel quite positive that Cecil believes I made this journey, consented to it, merely for her sake, and I am glad she should believe I faced deadly perils in order to chaperone her.
Dear me (hands drop, spectacles fall), it is just two years ago since that terrible time in London when I found that all my money was gone—lost in the failure of that wicked gold-mining company. I think with shudders of my vulgar landlady and the day when I had barely a shilling left. My mid-day repast was a morsel of bread, a little tea. I was wondering hopelessly—God forgive me!—what to do, where to go. Then, the sudden clamor in the house, the loud voices (rises), Arthur, his lordship, burst into my room. He was excited. He caught hold of me and hugged me tight, and said, “You wicked old woman, G—” (they have always called me G—since the time Cecil was so naughty over that letter in the pictorial alphabet. G. stands for Grannie, and also for goose.) He said, “Go upstairs and put on your cap or your hat and come away with me. Maitland can pack your fal-lals. Cecil is waiting, so you must hurry.” I am afraid—well, yes, I certainly cried a little. (Wipes eyes with socks). Then he pushed me out of the room, and I heard him talking to the landlady in a very loud voice; she was trembling afterward. I was so upset that, after all, I carried my bonnet downstairs and he put it on with his own dear hands, and hugged me again. We drove off at once to their London house, and what a happy home they have made it!
They will not hear of my leaving them, though things are not so bad as I feared. Some of my money was saved, so that I am not entirely dependent on my dear boy’s bounty. Then I knit all his socks, the best silk, and he assures me that I save him pounds; he had always paid 18s. a pair in Regent Street. Iniquitous robbery!
I do not think I should really mind if I had not a farthing, for the little one I loved has grown into such a real nobleman. (Wipes eyes with socks.)
ENTER Cecil R.