walk home was a rather long one to which to look forward.
We rose, my companion very reluctant to go. The noise of the samisen still continued in the room beneath us, and the pad, pad of the dancers had begun again to the accompanying falsetto of the musicians’ voices, in a strange monotonous chant.
We had paid the bill, mysterious items done in red ink upon a narrow strip of satin-like rice-paper; and so we went out by way of the verandah down the funny little steps which led from it to the garden path a dozen feet or less below.
We went down into the “garden of a thousand lights,” and I idly counted those whose hearts were cold, whilst Kotmasu spoke to a friend.
“We are here!” said the friend, and in a little pagoda near a willow I caught a glimpse of others, a gay blot of colour in the half -shadow denoting the presence of ladies.
