“No, no. You are more beautiful than ever. You could not be otherwise than beautiful, my beloved, but you appear to me so frail that I am beginning to believe you are some spirit. Tell me, do tell me, what has wrought this change in you?”
For a moment she remained silent. Then she laughed. Her hands, with a little, childish motion of delight, she clapped.
“Wait,” she cried, breaking from his arm. “I will show you the cause.”
She ran across the room and brought a little mirror, which she polished with her sleeve as she returned to him. Then leaning against him, she held it before his face, while she put her own cheek against his.
“Look within, Keiki-sama. Said the gods: ‘Such a pale and wan Keiki will need a companion, so we will make the Lady Wistaria’s face to match his!’ So they did so.”
With a gesture of despair, he pushed the glass away.
“No,” he said, hoarsely, “for mine is pale and thin from much illness, while yours—”
“From love,” she said, in a breath.
