“Please do not, Jokoin; I cannot bear it—to hear you use such language.”

“Well, I gave them the slip, all right, and here I am—but where are the men? Is Hideyoshi the only one you had?”

“Sister, you shock me; I cannot understand you!”

“Oh, yes, you can. Just take a tumble. Turn a somersault—you have no idea how easy it is; and how stimulating, withal. I wouldn’t be in love with only one man, at a time, as you are, right now, this very minute, for anything. It doesn’t pay, at all, to be sentimental.”

Yodogima did not answer, at once; she could not at first, for want of composure; afterwards, perhaps, because her own ideals seemed the harder to encourage in the face of such light-heartedness; but finally, that joy which is wrought only in the crucible of a convicted enlightenment opened wider still the floodgates of confidence, bidding her say:

“Jokoin, let me tell you that to love is a sacred thing; and if you care to win and hold a man’s regard, then learn to use your tongue, but keep in hand the heart.”

“As you did with Ieyasu. Poor fellow. They say he is about to croak from distraction.”

“I do not know what you mean; your speech has become quite unintelligible. Someone must have exercised a strange influence upon you.”

“It’s the newfangled religion—I’ve got it, I’ll admit—though it’s the worst sort of a makeshift and good only for those who need it, who practice it, and who believe in it. Why, Yodo, under it, you can do anything, then take a bath, bend the knee, and shout for Christ’s sake: he’ll do the rest.”

“Horrors, sister; I do believe you are possessed!”