She let her hand remain in his, for it was sweet to feel his touch, yet, with the strangest stubbornness, she urged the question:—
“Why did you think me Sado-ko?”
“I will tell you why some other day,” he answered in a low voice.
“But am I not Masago?” she persisted.
“Yes,” said he, “Masago is your name, and it is sweeter, simpler, lovelier far than—”
She drew her hands from his with passionate petulance. Her eyes were hurt.
“You like Masago better, then, than Sado-ko?” was her astonishing question.
“The name? Why, yes. It has a sweeter sound—Masago! ’Tis the loveliest of flowers,—modest, simple, and fair.”
She caught her breath. When she raised her eyes to his, they were full of deep reproach. Moving away she turned her back, and would not turn or listen to his calling of her name:—
“Masago, Masago!” Then, after a short silence, “Have I offended you, Masago?”