Or if we do discuss them," he went on, "let us weave them into a fairy tale.

Let us say that you are indeed the Daughter of All America and that I am the Son of All Japan.

You know what happens in fairyland when two great nations rise up to fight ?" "Tell me," she begged.
"Why, the Daughter of All America and the Son of All Japan stand hand in hand before their people, and as they plight their troth, all bitter feelings pass away, the shouts of anger cease, and there is no more talk of war." She sighed, and leaned a little towards him.

Her eyes were soft and dusky, her red lips a little parted.
"But I," she whispered, "am not the Daughter of All America." "Nor am I," he answered with a sigh, "the Son of all Japan." There was a breathless silence.

The water splashed into the basin, the music came throbbing in through the flower-hung doorways.