Send for her, he said, briefly, and she knew he would not be gainsaid.
Send for her! Ah, Madam Omatsu begged her noble sons pardon ten million times, but she had made a great mistake. His sister had, of course, retired, but it was not within their augustly miserable and honorably unworthy domicile. She had gone out on a visit to some friends.
Taro undid the clinging hands and pushed her from him, his brooding eyes glaring.
Where?
Where? Why, it was only a short distance—perhaps two rice-fields lengths from their house.
The house?—the peoples name?
Madam Omatsu whitened a trifle. Her eyes narrowed, her lips quivered. She tried once more frantically to prevaricate.
The peoples name? She could not quite recall, but the next day—the next day surely—
Ah-h, said her son, with delirious brutality, you are deceiving me, lying to me. I demand to know where she is. I am her rightful guardian. I must see her at once.
Madam Omatsu protested with faint vehemence, but she did not weep. She even essayed a little laugh, that reminded Jack eerily of Yuki. In the dimly lighted room she looked strangely like her daughter, save that she was much smaller and quite thin and frail, whereas Yuki was rosy and healthy.