That night Ohano would not let her husband sleep until he had made her a promise. They lay on their respective mattresses under the same mosquito netting. It was quite in vain for Kwacho to sleep while the voice of Ohano droned on. After listening for fully two hours to a steady stream of childish eloquence and reproach, and answering only in gruff monosyllables, he sprang up in bed and demanded of his better half whether she intended to remain awake all night. Whereat that small but stubborn individual raised herself also, and, propping her elbows on her knees, informed the irate Kwacho that such was her intention, and that, in fact, she did not expect to sleep any night again until he had made some concession to the ambition of their only daughter, which, after all, was a most praiseworthy one,—a desire for more learning.
Kwacho’s answer was not the result of a sudden appreciation of Masago’s virtues, but he was sleepy and tired, too. There was much to be done at the store on the morrow, and Ohano’s suggestion that she intended to keep awake for other nights was not a relishing prospect.
“She shall go on one condition,” he said.
“Yes?” eagerly inquired his wife.
“That she is first betrothed to Kamura Junzo.”
“There will be no trouble as to that,” said Ohano, with conviction, and lying down drew the quilt over her. A few minutes later the twain were at rest.
CHAPTER IV
A BETROTHAL