"Well, kitten," she said, a trifle louder and shriller than one seemed
to expect of her, "are you going to remain with us a little while, or
will next week see you scampering away again?"
"I'll stay all summer, fuss-budget. I'm going to paint the San
Gregorio while it's on exhibition, and then this old house and the
garden. Oh, mother dear, I'm in love with it! It's wonderful!"
The potato baron had followed Parker and his daughter into the patio,
and stood now, showing all of his teeth in an amiable smile. Parker
suddenly remembered his guest.
"My dear," he addressed his wife, "I have brought a guest with me.
This is Mr. Okada, of whom I wrote you."
Okada bowed low--as low as the rules of Japanese etiquette prescribe,
which is to say that he bent himself almost double. At the same time,
he lifted his hat. Then he bowed again twice, and, with a pleasing
smile proffered his hand. Mrs. Parker took it and shook it with hearty
good will.
"You are very welcome, Mr. Okada," she shrilled. "Murray," she added,
turning to the butler, who was approaching with Okada's suitcase, "show
the gentleman to the room with the big bed in it. Dinner will be ready
at six, Mr. Okada. Please do not bother to dress for dinner. We're
quite informal here."
"Sank you very much," he replied, with an unpleasant whistling intake
of breath; with another profound bow to the ladies, he turned and
followed Murray to his room.
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