The minister could scarcely believe he heard aright. The Japanese woman continued to smile in a manner whose guileless, impenetrable innocence of expression had the effect of irritating him excessively.
“If Hyacinth is not your child, Madame Aoi, who are her parents?”
“The gods forsaken little Hyacinth. She has no true parents.”
In his acute interest in the matter, the minister actually overlooked the slip of Aoi when she alluded to the “gods.” What he said, with his eyes fixed very sternly upon her face, was:
“You are deceiving me, Madame Aoi. You are hiding the truth from me.”
The slightest frown passed over Aoi’s face. Her color deepened, then faded, leaving her inscrutable and impassive once more.
The honorable one was augustly mistaken, for the humble one had nothing to hide. Since the affairs of her adopted child concerned only her foster-parent, it was impossible to deceive the honorable minister.
It was the visitor’s turn to flush, and he did so angrily. Plainly this Japanese woman was attempting to conceal, with the prevarication and guile of her people, some mystery concerning Hyacinth. If the girl was not the daughter of Aoi by her English husband, who then was she? She certainly was not pure Japanese. Could it be that she was not even in part Japanese? The possibility staggered the missionary.
“Madame Aoi, you are taking a most unusual attitude towards me to-day.”
Aoi inclined her head in a motion that might have meant either assent or negation.