So ran his last letter.
Hyacinth wondered, vaguely, what he would say when he returned to Japan and found that she could not accompany him. By that time she would be married—married to Yamashiro Yoshida, who was rich and owned large stores in Tokyo, and who sometimes wore an English hat, the envy and marvel of all the gilded youth of Sendai.
Upon her cogitations came Aoi, trembling and anxious. She hovered a moment over the girl, hesitation and worry depicted in her countenance.
In surprise, Hyacinth looked up at her, then, carefully slipping the mirror into her sleeve, raised herself erect.
“What is troubling you, mother? Why, your hands tremble. I will hold them. You have news from Koma? What is it?”
“No, little one; it is not of Koma I speak.”
“Of whom, then?”
“Of you.”
“Then smile instantly. I am an insignificant subject for mirth, not tears.”
“Little one, if the right of freedom were given you, would you leave the humble one?”