She found her way to where Takashima and Miss Morton were sitting. Miss Morton was talking very vivaciously, and the Japanese was answering absently. As Cleo came behind him and rested her hand for a moment on the back of his deck-chair, he started.
"Ah, is it you?" he said, softly. "Did you not say that you would dance?"
"It is a little early yet," the girl answered. "See, the sun has not gone down yet. Let us watch it."
They drew their deck-chairs quite close to the guard-rail, and watched the dying sunset.
"It is the most beautiful thing on earth," said Cleo Ballard, and she sighed vaguely.
The Japanese turned and looked at her in the semi-darkness.
"Nay! you are more beautiful," he said, and his face was eloquent in its earnestness. The girl turned her head away.
"Tell me about the women in Japan," she said, changing the subject. "Are not they very beautiful?"
Takashima's thoughtful face looked out across the ocean waste. "Yes," he said slowly; "I have always thought so. Still, none of them is as beautiful as you are—or—or—as kind," he added, hesitatingly.