Koma, distressed over the change in his little playmate, sought to win her friendship with presents purchased in England, boxes of strange sweetmeats—at least he told her they were sweetmeats. But they were coated with a black-brown covering which the little girl regarded suspiciously. She pushed almost fearfully from her the harmless chocolate drops. The sugar-coated biscuits tempted her to touch one with the tip of her tongue, but she retreated the next moment when she found the red coloring upon her fingers.
Koma regarded the girl with an expression half whimsical, half tragical, and, turning to his mother, said:
“Why, the little one is even more Japanese than I.”
Aoi nodded her head, smiling tenderly at the flushing face of Hyacinth.
“Will you not even speak to Komazawa?” she inquired, reproachfully. “Why, that is not kind. Do you not love your august brother?”
As Hyacinth made no response, Koma held out his hands to her.
“Come here, little one,” he said, bending to her till his face was quite close to hers.
Her fascinated eyes wandered from his strange apparel to his face. His eyes held hers with their strong, tender, reassuring expression. Half unconsciously she went closer to him.
“Do you not remember me, then?” he queried, in a soft voice, whose reproachful tones thrilled the girl.
Wistfully she approached him still closer, only to retreat in panic the next moment. She was like a little wild bird, shy and fearful, yet half anxious to make friends with a strange being.