“When we are married, Junzo, I want to make a little trip with you—alone.”
“Where, Masago?”
She stopped, looking toward the hills. Then, with one hand on his arm and the other lifted from her sleeve, she pointed:—
“Look, Junzo, how the royal sun lingers on the palace turrets. It seems to love Aoyama.”
Junzo surveyed the golden peaks of the palace, shining red in the sunset glow. His thoughts prevented speech. His mind dwelling on that one who had once made her home within the palace, he forced his eyes away to turn them on the dreamy face of his Masago.
“You spoke of a little trip, Masago. Where shall it be, then?”
“Yonder,” she said, still pointing toward the palace.
His face was troubled.
“I do not understand. You do not mean—”
Slowly she nodded her head.