Ohano’s plump body quickly seated itself opposite Masago. The opportunity for a morning gossip with Masago was something she never denied herself.
She had just opened her mouth to begin, When Masago quietly put her hand over the red orifice.
“No; do not speak for a moment, mother, but listen to me.”
Masago smiled faintly at the expression in her mother’s eyes and continued rapidly:—
“Listen. I am seventeen years now,—old enough, almost, my father says, to be married. But I do not wish to marry.”
“But—” began Ohano.
“No; do not interrupt me. I want to go away to school,—a private school in Kyoto, where other rich men send their daughters, and where I, too, can sometimes see those palaces and maybe the noble ladies and gentlemen you have told me so much about.”
“But, Masago, every maiden of your age wishes to marry; and your father has chosen—”
“Let me finish, if you please, or I will not talk to you at all. I do not know why it is, but I have no desire to marry; and sometimes I feel like one who is stifling in this miserable little town. Why should we, who have more wealth than many of those in Tokyo who live in palaces, be caged up here, like birds with clipped wings? What is the use of having that wealth if we may not use it? Oh, there are so many joyful happenings in the capital every day and every night. I read about it in those papers which father brings home sometimes from Tokyo. The city is so gay and brilliant, mother, and there are so many peculiar foreigners to see. I was made for such a place—not for this dull, quiet town. Why, I would even be content to see all this as an outsider, but to have to remain here when—Oh!”
She struck her hands together with an eloquent motion. Ohano stared at her aghast, regarding her flushing face and snapping eyes.