Impatient to speak with her of other matters nearer his heart, the lover let full, passionate appeal shine in his eyes. Wistaria’s paleness deepened, if that were possible. Her eyes grew humid with repressed sadness. Her voice trembled and broke in spite of her words.
“Melancholy, my lord? Nay, you would treat me as a child. You would turn my heart from a lofty subject with the graceless remark that it is too melancholy for me.”
“Lady, I would turn your heart to the holiest of all subjects on earth.”
“Ah, what is that, dear Keiki—No, no, no! Pray excuse my honorable rudeness. Do, pray, my lord, rather perceive my intense curiosity in the matter of which we have spoken. Then when you have enlightened me, speak whatever you will, my lord. I will listen.”
“And concerning what am I to enlighten you?”
“The question which cuts our country into two bitter factions, each defiant and warlike towards the other.”
Into the lover’s face there crept vague, baffled perplexity mirroring the thought beyond. Coquetry, or desire for political truth—which swayed his mistress? If the former, there was no combating it; if the latter, then—why then he would speak her true. He said:
“Will you tell me, then, whom you have been taught to regard as the ruler of Japan?”
“Why, our good Shogun Iyesada,” she returned, promptly.
“Yet he is not so regarded by every one in Japan.”