“Who spoke of refusing?” she asked in an agitated voice.
“Your answer is a refusal, Madame.”
The woman was silent, her mind busily at work.
“Listen, Okido,” she finally said, “a promise was made by me to the august father, now dead, of the girl Azalea. He bade me promise him that Azalea should be given to no one in marriage save with her own consent. So! I withdraw the offer of my oldest daughter as bride to Matsuma, and instead say this: Bid the exalted one win first the consent of Azalea. He is then welcome to her.”
“Good!” said Okido, arising and shaking the crumbs from his hakama. “We will make direct suit to the maiden.”
Madame Yamada had arisen also. “Yes, that is it,” she said, “and for that purpose heed the advice of one experienced in such matters. Let His Excellency visit much the home of the humblest, and, in person, press the suit.”
Okido regarded her uneasily. “My business——” he began.
“Oh, excellent Okido,” interrupted the woman, “I promise you that you will earn your fee. Further, should the suit of your client fail—should the girl be obstinate and refuse his proposal, bear in mind, good Okido, that a double fee will be in your palm if my oldest daughter finds favor in the eyes of Matsuda.”
Okido nodded his head slowly. He was thoughtful as the maid slipped on his sandals. As he left the house he stopped at the threshold and looked back at Madame Yamada. Her colorless face was drawn into strange lines. Her long eyes were half closed. Upon her face there was calculation—cold, cruel. She slowly repeated her words. Again nodding understanding, if not assent, the marriage broker went on his way pensively toward the house of Matsuda Isami.
