“Madame Aoi,” he said, “I have just heard the most improbable, ridiculous tale about Hyacinth.”
Madame Aoi elevated her eyes in gentle question.
“That she is, in fact—er—engaged——that is, affianced—you know what I mean.”
Aoi smiled beamingly. Yes, she admitted, her daughter was, indeed, betrothed to Yamashiro Yoshida, “son of our most illustrious and respected and honorable friend in Sendai, Yamashiro Shawtaro.”
“But,” said the visitor, after a moment of speechless surprise, “this is the most preposterous, impossible of things. Why this—this Yamashiro Shawtaro, the father of the boy, is one of the most rabid Buddhists, and, besides, it is barbaric, an unheard-of thing, to think of marrying a girl of her age to any one.”
“The betrothal,” said Aoi, with a slight smile, “was all arranged by the Yamashiro family. The boy is the father’s salt of life. He cast eyes of desire upon the little one, and as he is the richest, noblest, and proudest youth in Sendai, we have accepted him. All the town envies us, excellency.”
“Does her brother know about this?” demanded Mr. Blount, severely.
“Oh yes, surely.”
“And what does he say? He is English enough to perceive the utter impossibility of such a marriage.”
“We have not heard from my son yet in the matter,” said Aoi, simply.