“There is a bitter tone within your voice,” said Sado-ko. “Why is it so?”
Masago did not answer, and the princess continued:—
“Of your history I had learned, Masago. It matters not how or where or when. One spoke of you with—love—”
She broke off sharply to wring her hands unconsciously.
“And so I came to—to look upon you—sister.”
“You came from curiosity,” said Masago, in that same bitter tone. “It was the passing whim of a languid princess, bored with her greatness.”
“You misjudge me,” said the Princess Sado-ko, with a sigh.
“Not so,” replied Masago, the color flaming in her face; “I can but recognize that same idle fancy that also once possessed your father when he—”
She bit her lips and turned her face away. Angry tears clouded her eyes. She could not speak for her proud emotion.
“There was another reason,” said the princess, softly. “Masago, pray turn not your head in pride from me. I came not out of condescension, nor yet from idle curiosity, but because of a strange hunger of my heart, which I could not resist.”