“Bring closer your honorable head,” said the lady to Genji, who strode beside her norimono, ever and anon ordering and scolding the runners.
He brought his ear closer to the girl’s lips. She leaned over and whispered, while a pale pink flush came, fled, and grew and deepened again in her face.
“Tell me,” said she, “which of the honorably bold and silly cavaliers is it that remains?”
“The one, my lady, who, not content with despatching his love-letters and tokens to you by underlings, has had the august impertinence to deliver them himself in person.”
“Yes—ye-es—of course,” said Wistaria, blushing deliciously, “and that was honorably right. Do you not think so, my brave Genji?”
“Perhaps,” admitted the astute samurai, frowning at the same time upon a portion of the parade belonging to the Lady Evening Glory. Wistaria laughed with infinite relish.
“Well,” she said, “if my honorable aunt or august uncle were to learn of his boldness, I fear me they would command that the curtains of my insignificant norimon be drawn so tightly that I should surely suffocate.”
“Fear not,” said Genji, “I shall take immediate measures to prevent such an occurrence, my lady.”
Wistaria pouted, and frowned as heavily as it is possible for bright eyes and rosy lips to do. She toyed with her fan, opening and closing it several times.
“You are honorably over-zealous, Sir Genji,” she said.