As he awaited her, in the wistaria arbor by the fountain, he enjoyed a feeling of serenity, of having laid out a wise and safe course, one which would avoid the anguish and regrets of love passion. As he noticed her at a distance, hurrying towards him, dainty, picturelike under her brightly hued parasol, he became elated with a feeling of gratification, pride, that this beautiful, winsome girl, the equal of whom one did not see in weeks or months, should be thus hastening to him.
She was in a gay mood. "You know, Kent-san, it's the first time I ever had a meeting with a man like this. And still I know that it's right for a man and a woman to meet thus, if they----"
"Never mind," she laughed, a little confused. "Where do you wish to go, Kent-san?"
He left it to her. She decided on Shiba Park. It suited him admirably. He had hoped that she would select some place like that, typically Japanese. Somehow the surroundings of the former occasion, the strident modernity of the new art, the exaggerated imitation of the Quartier Latin atmosphere by the students, had vitiated the picture which he wanted to form of her. But here, as they wandered slowly under the huge, gnarled cryptomeria trees, among the ancient shrines and sepulchers of the Tokugawa shoguns, with their century-old carvings, hundreds upon hundreds of great stone and brass lanterns, silent halls with woodwork wrought into infinitesimally minute details, myriads of gilt ornaments, fantastic tesselated ceiling squares, one felt oneself brought back into the age of feudalism, peaceful, reverend in the brooding calm which lay over this place. Here she blended into, formed an integral part of the surroundings. The bright colors of her kimono with its great bow-like obi-girdle arrangement, her clear, refined Japanese features seeming to supply the last touch of artistry which infused this gorgeous medieval setting with the vitalizing breath of life.
And her thoughts came into harmony with it all. Modernism faded away; she told him the old histories connected with these shrines, imaginative, picturesque; quoted the ancient proverbs, bits of softly cadenced poetry. This was how he wanted her to be; how marvelously she contrived to translate into living reality the indefinitely glimpsed dream of his imagination. He became immersed in well-being, absolutely complete, delicious pleasure. They dined at a Japanese tea house facing a garden, another perfect composition where nature had been persuaded rather than compelled to arrange the components, fine traceries of maple leaves, broad, flat stones in a winding pathway down to a tranquil bit of water, forming together the perfect picture where no ill-placed pebble or broken twig might intrude on harmony.