How much? Oh, not much. Depends how you go. Four hundred, or five hundred dollars, possibly.
She groaned. How much come ad Japan?
The same.
She sighed. Sa-ay, kind augustness, I wan go ad America. Pray give me money go there.
Ill take you some day, Yuki.
She retreated before this offer.
Ah, thangs—yes, some day, of course. Then, after a meditative moment: Sa-ay, it taking more money than thad three-four hundled dollar whicheven?
Yes; about that much again for incidentals—possibly more.
She sighed hugely this time, and he knew she was not affecting.
A few days later, poking among her pretty belongings, as he so much liked to do—she was out in the garden gathering flowers for their dinner-table—he found her little jewel-box. Like everything else she possessed, it was daintily perfumed. At the top lay the few pieces of jewelry he had bought for her on different occasions when he had taken her on trips to the city. He lifted the top tray, and then he saw something that startled him. It was a roll of bank-bills. He took it out and counted it. There was not quite one hundred and fifty dollars. He calculated all he had given her. It amounted to a little over twice this sum. She had been saving, after all! What was her object?