“Oh no, indeed; I am still smarting under the sting of her little royal tongue.”
“Ah, you are too fulsome in your flattery to her, countess,” said Lady Fuji-no. “Diplomacy and tact with her Highness should take the form of frankness, even brusqueness.”
“Yes,” said the one in the hammock, sarcastically, “I noted the effect of your diplomacy the other morning.”
Lady Fuji-no colored, and bent her head above her work.
“Oh, these days, these days!” groaned the elderly lady, who was both chaperon and mentor to the others. “Now, in my insignificant youth it would have been a crime of treason to speak with disrespect of a royal princess.”
“But you see,” was the quick retort, “what happened to your august days, Madame Bara. They are quite, quite snuffed out. To-day is—to-day! We are modern—Western—if it please you!”
“Yes,” assented the Paris gown, “that is it exactly.”
“While the Princess Sado-ko remains—Eastern.”
Lady Fuji, at the frame, had found her voice again. The Duchess Aoi in the hammock closed her eyes contemptuously.
“The day is long,” she said, “and our conversation most dull.”