27

I had forgotten about the minister's other daughter, the ambitious one who had herself been desirous of appointment as wardress. She was a susceptible sort of girl and she was restless. The minister did not know what to do with her. The sister at court lived in dread of scandal.

“We must not let her out where people will see her,” said the minister.

But she was not easily kept under cover.

One evening, I do not remember exactly when, though it must have been at the loveliest time of autumn, several fine young gentlemen were gathered in the sister's rooms. There was music of a quiet, undemanding sort. Yu~giri was among them, more jocular than usual.

“Yes, he _is_ different,” said one of the women.

The Omi lady pushed herself to the fore. They tried to restrain her but she turned defiantly on them and would not be dislodged.

“Oh, _there_ he is,” she said in a piercing whisper of that most proper young man. “_There's_ the one that's different.”

Now she spoke up, offering a poem in firm, clear tones:

“If you're a little boat with nowhere to go,

Just tell me where you're tied. I'll row out and meet you.

“Excuse me for asking, but are you maybe the open boat that comes back again and again?” *

He was startled. One did not expect such blunt proposals in these elegant rooms. But then he remembered a lady who was much talked about these days.

“Not even a boatman driven off course by the winds

Would wish to make for so untamed a shore.”

She could not think how to answer—or so one hears.

{A Branch of Plum}