The angry blood buzzed in Madame Yamada’s ears, but she answered calmly enough:
“Why, yes, it is true, Excellency.” Then raising her voice, she called to the girl: “Azalea!”
Matsuda, returning to the interior of the house, seated himself in the guest room, lighted his pipe and drew a long whiff. Then he looked at Azalea sitting before him pensively. His little keen eyes going from her to her step-mother and catching the glance of baffled fury bestowed by Madame Yamada upon her daughter Yuri, he allowed a sound which was oddly like a chuckle to escape him. Then he put the pipe down and again regarded the maiden Azalea. He said:
“It is the wish of your step-mother that I address you personally.”
She looked at him with eyes of inquiry. What had Matsuda Isami to say to her? She did not dream that a man as old as her father, and one who was so exalted in public opinion, would deign to propose marriage with her, so insignificant and humble.
“I wish to marry you,” said Matsuda bluntly.
Her lips parted and her eyes enlarged.
“Me?” she said faintly, and repeated the little word. “Me?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “Marry you, Azalea.”
The color came in a frightened ebb to her face. She looked at her mother and sister fearfully. Their faces were absolutely cold and impassive. In a flash she understood her step-mother’s attitude of a moment since. It was all clearer than daylight. Azalea arose and bowed extravagantly down to the very mats. Then, with her head almost at Matsuda’s feet, she said: