A few years ago there appeared in the doorway of my room a young Japanese with a portfolio under his arm. He looked tired and pale, but as he smiled and bowed, with difficulty keeping his hands from his knees in Japanese salutation, I was struck with his quiet dignity, his air of self-respect, his lustrous, intelligent eyes. Would I look at his drawings of London? Of London? - yes, willingly. Opening his portfolio, he showed me a bright and luminous drawing of the exterior of Marylebone Church on a warm, moist day, the buildings and the atmospheric effect altogether admirable; the figures, of which there were many, so simple and naïve in manner as to suggest a Japanese colour-print. I was charmed with the combination so artlessly and sincerely evolved, and I looked at others - Reading the Newspapers in the Free Library, Evening in Trafalgar Square, Church Parade in the Park, Night on the Thames Embankment. I promised him I would have them published in The Magazine of Arty and I bought one or two: his eyes danced, but no other sign of pleasure did he give - his natural dignity seeming to forbid any marked demonstration of satisfaction.
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