She noted the surprise on his face, his amazement at this astonishing reasoning. "But don't you understand, one doesn't care for the man who is just a guest; it is a matter of business, but one doesn't love the o-kyaku-san, no matter what he gives, money, presents. The man who pays nothing, the friend, he's the oneâ€”the one whom one cares for. But, of course, you are a foreigner; you may know the hearts of your own women, but you don't know the hearts of geisha."
"And it seems plain that they must go into the continent of Asia. That's where they must get raw materials for their industries which they haven't at home. That's the only place to which we'll let them emigrateâ€”â€”"
The pictures! So she was another of Japan's millions of movie worshipers who form their ideas of Western civilization from the frenzied life of the cinema, Wild West pictures of cowboys rescuing lovely heroines from Indians and bandits, dainty damsels abducted in madly racing automobiles, passionate love scenes in lavishly upholstered abodes of plutocracy, gun-play and murder in city streetsâ€”all the wildly gyrating, delirious melodrama which ingenuous Japan seriously believes to be representative of life on the other side of the ocean. The thought of the discomfort of most of the Tokyo movie theaters, ramshackle fire-traps crowded with squirming, perspiring humanity, stifling in the afternoon heat, repelled him; still, it would not matter.