“That means ‘Snowflake,’ doesn’t it? I like it. Well now, Yuki, mayn’t I visit you at your home, before you are married?”

He was anxious to see what her people were like, and how she lived.

“Mos’ poor house in all Tokyo—so liddle bit house augustness nod lige come.”

“But I don’t care if it is. I want to come anyhow. I want to see you, not the house. Won’t you tell me where you live?”

She shook her head. “No,” She said with simple directness, and then added as an after-thought, “House too small. You altogedder too big to enter thad liddle bit insignificant hovel.”

Her answer gave him offence. He wondered why she should dissemble, wondered whether she was laughing at him. A glance at her, however, and his distrust vanished. She seemed such a simple little body, yet he knew he did not understand her.

Her eyes, which she had kept turned downward, slowly uplifted and looked questioningly into his own. Such wonderful eyes! Such a simple, exquisite face! He was suddenly suffused with a great wave of tenderness, and he bent low, and gently made prisoners of her hands. However indefinite his purpose had been up to this time, it was definite enough now.

“So you remember, Yuki, what you asked me when you were here before?”

“Yes.” She still gazed at him questioningly.

“Would you like to—would you rather marry me than one of those other fellows?” he said, softly.