“Talking of comic operas,” she exclaimed as we came out of the last place, “Aren’t there any tea-houses here, such as we see on the stage?”
“Yes, plenty of them,” I replied.
“Well,” she exclaimed with a ripple of laughter, “take me to the wickedest of them. What is the use of going around the world in a big yacht if you don’t see life?”
I wondered what her father would say if he knew, but I acted the faithful retainer to the last, and did as I was bid. She expressed the utmost delight in everything she saw, and it was well after six o’clock when we descended from our ’rickshaw at the landing. The boat was awaiting us, and in a short time we were alongside the yacht once more. It had been a wild, tempestuous outing, and I somewhat feared the stern disapproval of an angry parent. He was leaning over the rail revolving an unlit cigar.
“Oh, Poppa!” she cried up at him with enthusiasm, “I have had a perfectly splendid time. Mr. Tremorne knows Nagasaki like a book. He has taken me everywhere,” she cried, with unnecessary emphasis on the last word.
The millionaire was entirely unperturbed.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I hope you haven’t tired yourself out.”
“Oh, no! I should be delighted to do it all over again! Has anybody sent anything aboard for me?”
“Yes,” said the old man, “there’s been a procession of people here since you left. Dinner’s ready, Mr. Tremorne. You’ll come aboard, of course, and take pot-luck with us?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Hemster,” I said; “I must get a sampan and make my way into town again.”