Junzo turned his melancholy eyes upon her mocking face. Painfully he bowed, feeling in small mood to perform the courtesies of life.
“You are in excellent health, I trust?” she asked.
He bowed in answer. She smiled, and went a step nearer to him.
“I also hope you are still painting pictures just so fine as—”
She laughed derisively, and slowly, languidly unfurled her fan, a monstrous pinky thing of ostrich feathers.
A slow, dull flush grew upward in the face of Junzo. He did not deign to answer the taunting of the Lady Fuji-no.
“How is it, may I ask,” she continued, “that you so cruelly deserted us upon our journey to the capital? It was declared about the court that you had been engaged by Prince Komatzu to execute a speaking likeness—such as was the one of Princess Sado-ko—of all the ladies of our court.”
“Lady,” said Junzo, with a certain scorn within his voice, which caused his tormentor to blush with angry shame, “I am not here to visit you. You do me honor in your unsought speech with me. Yet, I pray you, do not waste your wise and witty words upon a simple artist.”
“Your words are rough, Sir Artist,” she replied, her small eyes flashing, “yet though you state you did not come to visit me, you are perhaps mistaken. I am a maid of honor to her Highness Princess Sado-ko, and in my keeping she has condescended to intrust an answer to your letter.”
He stared at her in shocked amazement.