"Numè nod unerstan', too," she said.
"Of course you don't, dear. Numè, I wish your father would let me take you away for a time. It is a shame to tie you down already, before you have had a chance to see anything or any one, hardly. You aren't a bit like most Japanese girls. I don't believe you realize how pretty—how very, very lovely and dainty and sweet you are. Sometimes when I look at your face I can't realize you are a Japanese girl. You are so pretty."
"Bud the Japanese girl be pretty," Numè said, with dignity; "pretty more than Americazan girl," she added, defiantly.
Mrs. Davis laughed. "Yes, they are—I suppose, some of them, but then an American can't always understand their style of beauty, dear. You are different. Your face is lovely—it is a flower—a bright tropical flower. No! It is too delicate for a tropical flower—it is like your name—you are a wild plum blossom. Sometimes I am puzzled to know when you look best—in the sweet, soft kimona or—or in a regular stylish American gown; then I couldn't tell you were anything but an American girl;—no, not an American girl—you are too pretty even for that—you are individual—just yourself, Numè."
"The Americazan lady always flatter," the girl said, rising to her feet, her face flushed and troubled. "Japanese girl flatter too; Japanese girl tell you she thing' you vaery pritty—but she nod mean. Tha's only for polite. Thad you thing me pretty—tha's polite."
This speech provoked a hearty laugh from a gentleman reading a batch of letters at a small table.
"There's a lesson for you, Jenny. She can't jolly you, eh, Numè?"
"Numè nod unerstan' to jolly," the girl answered.
"Come here, Numè, and I'll tell you," he called across to her. She went over to his side, her little serious face watching him questioningly.