Takasaki shook his head. “You forget I in Diplomatic Service,” he said speaking more quickly than usual, and dropping his precise and formal English. “I seldom in Nippon.”
“True.” Ethel concealed her disappointment. She was gradually awakening to the realization that Julian Barclay was absorbing her thoughts to the exclusion of all else, and to her consternation his name invariably cropped up in her conversations if he was not present.
A discreet tap sounded on the door, and at Takasaki’s command a man servant stepped into the drawing room.
“Mr. Barclay call for the Honorable Miss,” he announced.
Ethel colored hotly as she rose in some haste. “You make my lessons so agreeable, Mr. Takasaki,” she said. “I never realize when the time is up.”
“You so kind,” the Japanese bowed low over her hand. “Why not wait and permit that Mr. Barclay be entertained. My wife, she better, and be down in a little second.” Turning to the servant he gave a rapid order in his native tongue, and bowing, the Japanese servant withdrew, to return almost immediately with Julian Barclay.
Ethel watched the greeting between the two men, but learned nothing from Barclay’s sauvely polite manner and Takasaki’s changeless expression; if they had met before there was no indication of it in words and behavior.
“Mees Ogden tells that you visit in Nippon,” said Takasaki, and Ethel again colored warmly; what must Barclay think of her for discussing him with the Japanese?
“I stopped there en route to the Philippines some years ago,” said Barclay. “I was greatly interested in your embroideries, tapestries, and works of art.”
“Ah, yes. Many Americans buy our art work, and we are left without.”