Page:My Japanese Wife.djvu/91

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
MY JAPANESE WIFE.
77

ing old idol I’ve ever seen—a combination of J. L. Toole and Madame Blavatsky.”

Mousmé is still asleep when I enter, but the creaky floor awakes her ere I have half crossed it. She rubs her eyes in a somewhat bewildered fashion, and then with a smile promptly buries her little retroussé nose in the posy I have brought.

Then she rises from the mattress-like bed, a blue linen gowned little figure with tiny bare feet, and nails on them like rose leaves, and trots across the matting floor to a position in front of our improvised dressing-table.

She peers into the glass anxiously to see whether her slumbers have disturbed her hair, touches the thick, neatly-arranged plaits with deft fingers on either side of her smiling face, and then laughs at my amusement.

Mousmé’s toilet is a very simple matter. She has few garments to put on, no hair to