I declined.
Uncle started off alone.
There was some time before I heard someone fisting on my door.
“A Japanese gentleman wishes to see your husband, madam,” a hotel attendant addressed me.
“Good God! My husband?” I cried.
Satemo!
How could any porter be such an ignoramus as not to distinguish between Mrs. and Miss!
Possibly he esteemed me “modern” enough to marry an old man for money’s sake.
Oya, he was Mr. Consul of Chicago.
“Walk in, sir! Uchino hito will return within an hour or so.”