23

As reluctant as he to complain, she had little to say, and that little she said by indirection, implying that she did not blame the world so much as her own destiny for what had befallen her. Behind her words were sad hints that she wanted to go back to Uji for a time and wanted him to take her.

“Alas, I am in no position to promise anything of the sort. You must ask him, as clearly and directly as you can, and do as he wishes. And I must beg of you not to give him the slightest excuse for thinking you frivolous or undependable. Once you have made everything clear to him I shall have no misgivings at all about going with you and bringing you back again. He knows me well enough not to suspect anything improper.”

The knowledge that his path was strewn with lost opportunities was always with him. “Might I have it back again?” * But he only hinted at his feelings.

It was growing dark.

“I am afraid that this sort of talk rather tires me.” He was making her nervous, and the time had come to withdraw. “Perhaps when I am feeling a little better.”

“No, please tell me—if you are serious.” He groped for words with which to detain her. “When would you like to go? The road will be overgrown, and I must have it cleared.”

She turned back. “Let us say the first of next month. This month is almost over. I think we should go very quietly. Do you really think I need his permission?”

The soft voice was so like Oigimi's, more than he had ever known it to be. Abruptly, he leaned towards the pillar by which he was sitting and reached for her sleeve.

She should have known! She slipped deeper into the room. He pushed his way after her as if he were one of the family and again took her sleeve.

“You misunderstand completely. I thought I heard you say you wanted to go quietly off to Uji, and was delighted, and hoped to make sure I had heard you correctly. That is all. You have no reason to run away.”

She would have preferred not to answer. He was becoming a nuisance. But at length she composed herself for a soft reprimand: “Your behavior is so very strange at times. Try to imagine what all these people will be thinking.”

She seemed on the edge of tears. She was right, in a way, and he was sorry for her. Yet he went on: “Have I done anything that I need feel guilty about? Remember, please, that we had one rather intimate conversation. I do not entirely relish being treated like a criminal when, after all, you were once offered to me. But please do not fret. I will do nothing that might shock you and the world.”

Though he did not seem prepared to release her, he spoke calmly enough of the regrets that had been building up over the months and were by now almost too much for him. She felt helpless, cornered—but the words that come most easily do little to describe her anguish. She was in tears, more shamed and outraged than if it had been possible to dismiss him as merely a boor.

“You are behaving like a child, my dear,” he said at length, aroused once more to pity by her fragile charms. Beneath the distraught exterior he sensed a deep, calm strength, telling him how she had matured since the Uji days. Why had he so heedlessly given her up? He had done it, and deprived himself of all repose since, and he would have liked to cry out his regrets to the world.

Two women were in close attendance upon her. Had he been a stran-ger, they would have drawn closer against the possibility of something unseemly. But he was an old friend, and the conversation was evidently of a confidential nature. Tactfully, with a show of nonchalance, they withdrew, and unwittingly made things worse for Nakanokimi. Though he had not succeeded in keeping his regrets to himself, today as on other days he was behaving with admirable restraint. She could not think of curtly dismissing him.

One must presently draw a curtain upon such a scene. It had been a useless sort of visit, and, everything considered, he thought it best to take his leave.