"Duty!" he said, sternly. "That is the watchword for a Japanese. Did you forget that in America? Have you ceased to be Japanese?—duty first of all to your parents, to the wife and children to come, and last to yourself."
Orito was silent.
Omi now spoke. "Orito," he said, and his voice was quite dazed and stupid, "you really speak only in jest. Surely, it is now too late to change."
The young man's voice was very low:
"It would be too late had the marriage taken place—it is not too late now. Not so long as I have not ruined Numè's happiness as well as my own."
"Perhaps after you think this over you will change, my son," Sachi said, gently.
"Nay, father, I would rather see you reconciled. I cannot change in this. You do not understand. I love her with all my heart, and if—if she were impossible to me, I should surely die."
"Could you, then, leave your father to a comfortless, childless life?" the old man asked, sadly.
"We should go together," Orito said.