“Why do we wait?”
The Lord Catzu stirred uneasily, glancing from the bridal couple to his wife, and then to the inscrutable face of Shimadzu.
“If I may be permitted to remark,” he said, apologetically, “the Lady Wistaria is certainly garbed unbefitting her rank and race.”
“Chut!” said his wife, angrily, “you would delay matters for such a trifle? Every moment counts now against our son. Will you let such an insignificant matter as the dress of your unworthy niece hasten the possible death of our beloved?”
“When it is her wedding-dress, yes,” said Catzu, stubbornly. “May I be stricken blind before I witness such a disgrace brought upon my honorable niece’s dignity. She must be married as befits her rank, I repeat.”
A sour smile played over the features of the Lady Evening Glory.
“That is true. Well, her rank is that of the Eta,” she said, tartly.
Having found the courage to disagree with his lady, Catzu now set her at complete defiance. He marched towards the door.
“Very well, then. I refuse to witness such an outrageous ceremony. The lady may have Eta kindred, but do not forget that she has also the blood of royalty in her veins.”
His consort could hardly suppress her fury.