“The ring is made by hand,” volunteered Takasaki, after a brief silence, and turning it over and over. “A Chinese curio——”
“And if I am not mistaken, a woman’s ring,” supplemented Barclay. “It is very small, and barely fits my little finger.”
“Has it no legend?” asked Ethel.
“It was perhaps worn by the highborn many many years ago,” said Takasaki. “In Nippon I have believed what you call”—he thought a moment for the word he wanted—“tradition, which says that jade for the woman wearer on the coats is a token of love’s loyalty.”
“And for the man?” asked Barclay, accepting the ring and slipping it on his little finger.
“For the man”—again Takasaki paused, and his face was unsmiling, “it signifies betrayal and death.”
“What a very gloomy outlook!” laughed Barclay, inspecting the ring on his finger. “I am glad your tradition is more kind to the woman, and grants her”—his eyes sought Ethel—“love’s loyalty.”
“We Nipponese are loyal to our gods, our country, and our women,” Takasaki’s tone was almost a rebuke in its seriousness. “Betrayal merits death.”
“Quite so.” Barclay stooped over to pick up Ethel’s fur muff, and she missed seeing his expression. “Let me carry those books, Miss Ogden?” putting out a hand toward a small pile of them on the table.
“Thank you, but the books stay here for Mr. Takasaki,” smiling at their host. “You will write that composition before the next lesson.”