She announced herself a bigot of poetry. She was bending to make a full poetical demonstration.
Of course it was more pleasing than a mourning-gowned narrative of her lamented husband. (I suppose he is dead, as divorce is too commonplace.)
But it were treachery, if I were put under her long recital of the insignificant works of local poets.
Tasukatta wa!
A little girl came as a relief.
Dorothy! She is a boarder of Mrs. Willis’, the golden-haired daughter of Mrs. Browning.
(Mrs. Browning was a disappointment, however. I fancied she might be a relative of the poet Browning. I asked about it. Her response was an unsympathetic “No!”)
“O’ hayo!” Dorothy said, spattering over me her familiarity.
It takes only an hour to be friends with the Meriken girl, while it is the work of a year with a Japanese musume.
“Great girl! Your Nippon language is perfect! Would you like to learn more?” I said.