“Your refusal or acceptance of the position here depends on me?”
“Absolutely.”
“What do you mean?”
The Tojin-san leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were no longer dull, there was a flame behind them.
“If you are successful—I remain here, in Fukui.”
“Ah. Er—you mean as regards the operation?”
“Yes.”
The Be-koku-jin regarded the tips of his fingers, which he had brought precisely together, reflectively. He purposely avoided the other’s almost pleading glance. He cleared his throat gruffly, and frowned as he crossed and recrossed his legs.
“Why stay in any event?” he demanded shortly, and put up his hand before the other could answer. “Your attitude is sentimental moonshine. You have nothing to fear—even if the operation is successful. I don’t agree with—er—what you have upon your mind.”
“That is because you do not understand,” said the Tojin wearily. “She is indeed what these people have imagined her—a creature almost of another world. She has lived only in her exquisite imagination, and because she is so beautiful and good and pure, to her all things too are fair. I was the first to treat her humanly. She has made me something in her mind’s eye that it is preposterous even to think of. To her I—I—think of it!—am a thing of beauty—a flawless, perfect god!”