"Yes," said Fanny Morton, with her usual cynicism. "Naturally you think so. Perhaps we women would, too, if she peeped at us out of her wicked little eyes as she does at you."
Cleo Ballard laughed, a slow, aggravating, silvery laugh.
"I think they are charming, Miss Morton," and then to Tom, "they are too funny, Tom. It is the cutest thing in the world to see the way in which they deliberately ignore us poor—females. At least they don't make any pretense of liking us, as we would do in America."
The little geisha girl had come near them again, with a couple of others. Thy were all pretty, with a cherry-lipped, peepy-eyed, cunning prettiness. They stood in a group together, their fans in their hands, glancing smilingly at the American men, undisguisedly trying to flirt with them.
Rose Cranston, thoroughly disgusted, said loftily: "Nasty little things, these Japanese women are."
"Not at all," said Tom, and went over to them, followed by Cleo and Sinclair.
"What is your name, little geesa girl?" Cleo asked, a touch of patronage in her voice. The three girls looked at each other and giggled. Sinclair looked amused. He put the question to them in Japanese, and they answered him readily: "Koto, Kirishima, and Matsu."
KOTO, KIRISHIMA, AND MATSU.