“No, my affection but increases the acuteness of my perceptions.”
“If you will permit an unworthy vassal to venture an opinion, I would say, my lord, that for one about to wed in a day, your excellency wears a most funereal countenance.”
The Prince arose abruptly, as though he would shake off some oppression that beset him.
“Let me tell you, my good fellow,” he said, approaching Genji more closely, “when one we love appears to us to be cloaking behind a mask of painful gayety some secret sadness, the world is apt to wear a haggard aspect which one’s own self must reflect. If you repeat that my imagination but conjures up such fancies, then I will say that I must be insane.”
Silently, for the space of a few moments, the two men remained looking into each other’s faces. They started simultaneously at the soft patting of approaching footsteps.
“One request, Sir Genji,” whispered Keiki, as the footsteps drew nearer. “Will you for once relax your guard and permit me to be alone with—”
“But—”
“You can guard my person just as well outside, and should any one attempt to attack me you will certainly be made aware of the fact by whatever noise a pair of lungs can force.”
“Her aunt would consider it unseemly,” said the samurai, with some hesitation.
“I do not make it a request,” said the Prince, patiently, “but merely beg the favor.”