"Mr. B. F. Pikkerton," it was this, among other things, he had taught her to call him,—"I lig if you permit my august ancestors visit me. I lig ver' moach if you please permit that unto me."
Her hair had been newly dressed for the occasion, and she had stuck a poppy in it. Besides, she put her hand on his arm (a brave thing for her to do), and smiled wistfully up at him. And when you know what Cho-Cho-San's smile was like,—and her hand—and its touch,—you will wonder how Pinkerton resisted her. However, he only laughed at her,—good-naturedly always, and said no.
" We can't adopt a whole regiment of back numbers, you know. You are back number enough for me."
And though he kissed her, she went away and cried again; and Japanese girls do not often cry.
He could not understand how important this concession was to her. It must be confessed that he did not try to understand. Sayre, with a little partizanship, explained to him that in Japan filial affection is the paramount motive, and that these "ancestors," living and dead, were his wife's sole
