“Oh,” she said airily, “we will not make Japanese marriage, step-mother.” She clasped her hands behind her and raised her head with childish dignity and pride.
“I am to be an American lady. Therefore we will marry in American fashion.”
“How is that?” asked Madame Yamada, mystified.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” said Azalea pityingly, “but I do. He told me once how they marry. Just pray, bend head like this, and knees like this, hold hands tight—so, mother-in-law; and then the priest prays on top of the heads and the bride is given a ring—big and shining—very fine. That’s the way they marry.”
“They do not exchange the marriage cup?” questioned her mother, horrified.
“No—there are no marriage cups. Also to marry that foreign way, I have got to be Kirishitan.”
“Ah-h! I see. You will turn convert?”
“I am already. I wish already to be so,” said the girl simply.
An idea flashed swiftly across the mind of Madame Yamada—a brilliant idea.
“Good!” she said. “It is well for a maiden to be of the same religion as the man she marries. But do not let it be known till the ceremony is over. Then throw away your ancestral tablets. You will have no further use for them.”