Komatzu made a gesture of impatience.
“Cousin, I apologize for the vile gossip with which my palace seems infected.”
“Oh, spare your august tongue, Komatzu. ’Twas my own maids who spoke.”
“And this Masago? I do not altogether understand. She is a daughter of Yamada Kwacho?”
“A daughter of his wife, Komatzu.”
The subtle meaning of her words was not lost upon the prince. He frowned.
“What relation does this Masago bear to this artist-man?” he asked.
Sado-ko looked up at him in the now fading moonlight, but did not answer. The expression of her face was strange. She turned suddenly, and moved with slow and almost dreamy step toward her rooms, Komatzu following at her side, awaiting her reply.
Sado-ko paused on the steps, and then she answered in the faintest voice:—
“Masago is his bride to be, Komatzu.”