“For—for lovers!”
He turned his eyes away from her face. She put a timid hand upon his arm.
“Yet,” she said, “Yamashiro Yoshida was my lover, and—and we did not embrace.”
“Ah, no, thank the Heavens!” he cried, impetuously, again possessing himself of her hands. “You were safe from such things here, little one. Yet you have much to learn—much, and I—” His eyes became purple and his chin squared in strong resolution. “I’m going to teach you,” he said.
“Teach me?” she faltered. “What will you teach me?”
“The meaning of love,” he said, the words escaping him as if he could not control them.
“You will be my lover?” she said, timid wonder in her eyes.
He could not speak for some moments. Then—
“Ah, what have I been saying? Little one, you do not know, you cannot dream of the extent of your own innocence. I would be less than man if your words did not pierce my heart and thrill my whole being. Yet I am not altogether selfish—no—though I have spent years of my life among those who were so. I will not take advantage of the little one. She shall have every opportunity her birth, her beauty, demands. You will go with your father, Hyacinth. Nay, do not interrupt me. It will be for your good. You must see this other world, to which you rightfully belong. Then when you have come to years of womanhood you can decide for yourself.”
“I am already a woman,” she said, tremulously.