To the old Samurai, hardly less than to the girl, his message had come with a shock. For as unconsciously as she had grown to womanhood, so unconsciously had he seen her grow, with never a thought of the demand for her that time was certain to bring. The son of whom he was so proud was gone to the army. That year he had received his commission and joined his regiment. The red cap-band of the Guards was a badge of honor for Jukichi, and he dwelt lovingly on the future of the young officer who had begun his career by winning appointment to the proudest service in the land. But the old man missed the boy, and honor could not entirely fill his place in the lonely house. It was the girl who brought sunshine into Jukichi’s daily routine. The classes and the lessons that had earned their humble subsistence still occupied part of his time, but the old man had lost his zest for them, and his urgent need had passed. Kokan’s pay was enough for them all considering their simple way of life, and Jukichi, feeling his years, was beginning to contemplate the time when he should resign his cares, and as inkyo, live out his days in rest and peace.
In all such dreams O-Mitsu had her share. Jukichi did not mean deliberately to keep her from the marriage to which every Japanese girl looks forward, but he put the thought of it from him as unpleasant, and Chukei had forced it on him against his will. He turned the nakodo away with evasive answer and scant encouragement. Then for hours he sat thinking of the girl and her future. After supper, when she brought his pipe, he said:
“I have received a proposal of marriage for you.”
She put down his tobacco pouch and sat still, a sudden clutching about her heart as if of suffocation. For some time Jukichi said nothing more, then he added:
“Chukei-san, a nakodo, has been here to see me about it.”
“Ah,” she said, with a pitiful little effort to smile. Her father had given no hint yet of his own feeling, and she dreaded what was to come. She was not prepared for this. She had not thought of it. Kokan and her father had made up her world, and she did not know what to say. The old man sat looking at her fondly, and for a few moments neither spoke. Then he said slowly:
“Yamamoto-san, the silk merchant, makes proposal on behalf of his son.”
She smiled again, and with better will, for somehow she found relief in the words and manner of speaking. Besides, she did not know the young man who had honored her, and she began to feel that perhaps her father might not consent. She had no wish to marry, and she was not the girl to do so simply for the asking. At length, as her father said no more, she plucked up courage, and bowing deferentially to him, said:
“I do not wish to marry yet. It is better for me, if you will, to live here with you until perhaps Kokan shall bring you another daughter to keep the house.”
A smile of pleasure lighted the old man’s face.