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The room seemed immaculate partly because it didn’t contain much; there was no possibility of clutter. The lines of the slat-back walnut couch were stark, with box cushions covered in a gold fabric. The matching chairs had black cushions. Two simple side tables held black-ceramic lamps with gold shades.

The wood floor had been sanded smooth and finished in a high gloss. I figured Mr. Yoshioka must have done the work himself. Mr. Smaller performed only the most necessary repairs, not décor changes.

Large six-panel Japanese screens of pale-gold silk faced each other from opposite walls. On the one to the left, a single tiger was lying at rest, though its eyes were wide and watchful. To the right were two tigers at play, their power and grace so convincingly portrayed that I almost expected them to move upon the silk.

Mr. Yoshioka returned with a lacquered tray on which were two white porcelain plates, one bearing my mother’s cookies, the other holding an assortment of inch-square cakes with pastel icing in a variety of colors. There were also smaller plates and cloth napkins.

As he transferred the items on the tray to the coffee table, Mr. Yoshioka said, “You admire the screens.”

“They’re really cool.”

“These are copies of those by the Meiji master Takeuchi Seiho. I commissioned these. Faithful reproductions. But the originals were more powerful. My family once owned them. Then they were lost.”

“Wow. How do you lose something so big?” I asked.

“Not easily.”

“Where were they lost?”

“California,” said Mr. Yoshioka, and he returned to the kitchen with the empty tray.

The only other work of art stood on

a pedestal between two windows that were covered by rice-paper shades the color of weak tea. This was an ivory sculpture of unusual size, about two feet high and two wide and a foot deep: a pretty Japanese lady in an elaborate kimono, carved with great realism.

When Mr. Yoshioka returned, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and two delicate cups, he said, “That is a Meiji original by the unequaled Asahi Gyokuzan. It is dated 1898. In 1901, he unveiled a larger, even more splendid version that was acquired by the emperor.”

As Mr. Yoshioka poured tea, I stood transfixed by the ivory carving. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“She is a court lady. Her ceremonial kimono has nineteen layers, the folds of each expressed by the sculptor in minute relief.”

The statue was so sensuous, I wanted to touch it, but I knew that I shouldn’t.

“My family once owned it but then lost it. Years later, I found and purchased it. That was a most happy day. I have poured the tea.”

He sat on the sofa, and I took a chair. I sipped the tea, which was hot, almost colorless, nearly tasteless, and somewhat bitter.

Watching me, Mr. Yoshioka seemed amused. “I thought you would feel that way,” he said, though I hadn’t complained. He indicated a miniature porcelain pitcher the size of a man’s thumb. “Orange-blossom honey will sweeten it.”

I added honey to the cup and was grateful for it. My host took his brew unsweetened.

When I sampled one of the tiny cakes, it was subtly flavored, perhaps with almond extract, and only slightly sweet, but edible.

He tried one of the cookies and was delighted, which didn’t surprise me if those little pastel cakes were his idea of a treat. A whole new world must have opened to him when he took his first bite of one of my mother’s peanut-butter cookies.

“What is May-gee?” I asked.

“A period of Japanese history. The rule of Emperor Mutsuhito, from 1868 to 1912. Meiji means enlightened peace. Are you bored?”

“No, sir. I really like the tigers and the court lady.”

“I am not an interesting man,” he said. “Sooner or later, I will bore you. Be certain to tell me when I do.”

“All right. But I don’t think you will.”

“I will,” he insisted. “The Meiji artists continued to produce in that style long after Mutsuhito’s reign ended. My sainted father and precious mother collected Meiji and from the earlier Edo period. They owned hundreds of pieces. Objects of art. I grew up in rooms filled with Meiji magic.”

“Hundreds? What happened to them?”