"Your father forbade me to write or visit you until official request was made us. Now you are a princess, dear, and far outrank Sir Onda's wife."
Yuki flushed. Her eyes sank in embarrassment. "Oh, I had not heard of the strange fact. I beg your pardon, my mother. I am ashamed that it is so."
Iriya laughed. "Do you beg my pardon for being a princess, for making your father proud and happy, when—when—he was threatened by such disappointment?"
Now Iriya, too, became embarrassed. She had intended not to refer to unhappy topics of the past. Yuki was thinking deeply. "It must be honorably the same cause which keeps my Gwendolen away." A great relief followed the thought. The fear of coldness, of censure, was gone. She smiled into the air before her, thinking of the letter she soon should write.
At first, unnoticed by her companions, old Suzumè had risen from her corner and was trotting stealthily about the room. She touched now, softly, each marvellous object within her reach, and talked to herself, the while, in a queer little sing-song monologue. "Ma-a-a! the honorable, huge room, and the wonderful things, all belonging to our Yuki-ko! Foreign carpets with many-colored vegetables painted on them. Strange, puffy beds, high up on legs, like horses (here she patted a French sofa). High tables,—Ma-a-a! with little carpets on them, too, all ravelled at the edges. Big glass wine-cups (here she lifted an iridescent flower-vase)—merciful Buddha! No wonder the august foreigners are so often drunk! Gold is all about, on walls and furniture,—even the pictures have little fences of gold around them! I see a big singing-box (piano) over in the corner. That alone costs hundreds and hundreds of yen. How rich our o jo san must be!"
Iriya and Yuki, by this time, had begun to notice the antics and to smile at the crooning of the old woman. She saw it,—nothing escaped the arrow of those jetty orbs,—but it pleased her now to pretend unconsciousness of observation. She placed herself in front of Yuki, as if the young wife were a large dressed doll, and could not listen. "Ma-a-a! Our o jo san, last of the Onda race. There she sits, straight and slim in her foreign chair, just like our Gracious Empress herself when her photograph is taken! Now she is a princess, but once she was only a little girl, carried to school on old Suzumè's bent back. Tee-hee! My back is crooked now as Daruma,—but a princess helped to crook it!"
"Don't say such things, Suzumè!" cried Yuki, quickly. "They hurt me!"
"Why should it hurt you, Yuki-ko,—I mean, your Highness, when old Suzumè is only proud?" chuckled the beldame, with almost malicious enjoyment. "Let me be crooked, by your favor. Let me hump over like the lobster of long life. A princess curved my back, tee-hee! Ma-a-a! Will your kind eyes moisten for such a thing? Arà! I have ceased. Behold me now, your Highness,—straight and slim as a young willow down by the moat." She threw back her shoulders and swaggered comically.
"That is better. How is it that little Maru did not come to-day?" asked Yuki, determined, if possible, to change the current of the old soul's thought. Her effort was strikingly successful. Simultaneously Suzumè's face and hands fell. "Ma-a-a! I am a fool. Moths have eaten my memory! Maru crouches yet outside the street gate, waiting for permission to enter."
"And I, too, forgot. Kwannon, forgive my selfishness," murmured Iriya.