5

He left in great uncertainty. The weed-choked path to the city resembled his thoughts. These nocturnal wanderings were novel and exciting, but they were very disturbing too. His damp sleeves would doubtless be matter for speculation if he returned to Sanjo~, and so he went instead to the northeast quarter at Rokujo~. Morning mists lay heavy over the garden —and how much heavier must they be at Ono!

The women were whispering. It was not the sort of thing they ex-pected of him. The lady of the orange blossoms always had a change of clothing ready, fresh and elegant and in keeping with the season. When he had had breakfast he went to see his father.

He got off a note to the princess, but she refused to look at it. She was very upset at this sudden aggressiveness. She did not want to tell her mother, but it would be even worse if her mother were to have vague suspicions or to hear the story from one of the women. It was a world which refused to keep secrets. Perhaps, after all, the best thing—it would upset her mother of course, but that could not be helped—would be to have her women transmit the whole story, complete and without distortion. They were close even for mother and daughter, and there had not been the smallest secret between them. The romancers tell us of daughters who keep secrets from their parents even when the whole world knows, but the possibility did not occur to the princess.

“There is not the slightest indication,” said one of the women, “that her mother knows anything. It is much too soon for the poor girl to begin worrying.”

They were beside themselves with curiosity about the unopened let-ter.

“It will seem very odd, my lady, if you do not answer. Odd and, I should say, rather childish.” And they opened it for her.

“It was entirely my fault,” said the princess. “I was not as careful as I should have been and so he caught a glimpse of me. Yet I do think it inconsiderate of him, shockingly so. Tell him, please, that I could not bring myself to read it.” Desperately lonely, she turned away from them.

The letter was warm but inoffensive, so much of it as they were able to see.

“My heart is there in the sleeve of an unkind lady,

Quite without my guidance. I am helpless.

“That is nothing unique, I tell myself. We all know what happens when a heart is left to its own devices. I do think all the same that it has been very badly misled.” *

It was a long letter, but this was all the women were able to read. They were puzzled. It did not sound like a nuptial letter, and yet—they were sad for their lady, so visibly upset, and they were troubled and curious too. He had been so very kind, and if she were to let him have his way he might be disappointed in her. The future seemed far from secure.