44

He had kotos brought out. She would be less adept at music, he feared, than at the other polite accomplishments. Sadness for the past flooded over him as he began to play. He had not touched a koto in the Uji house since the prince's death, he did not himself know why. He played on, sunk in thought, and the moon came out. There had been nothing insistent about the prince's koto, but it had, in its quiet way, had a strange power to move.

“If you had grown up here I think you might have had a rather different feeling for things. We were no kin to each other, but the prince had a strong hold on my affections. It is a pity that you spent so many years so far away.”

She was toying shyly with a fan. Her profile was an unblemished white, and her forehead, between the rich strands of hair, brought memories of her sister. He must give her music lessons and otherwise make her a lady for whom he need not apologize.

“Have you had a try at the koto? Perhaps you have had lessons on the East Country koto?” *

“I do not even speak the language of the capital. Should you expect me to play a capital koto?” +

She was clever. He was already sad at the thought of having her at Uji and seeing her only rarely. It was not often that he felt such regrets.

“The voice of'the koto in the night, on the terrace of the king of Ch'u,'“# he whispered to himself.

Daughter of a region where one heard only the twang of the bow, Jiju~ was entranced. It was the mark of her want of culture that her delight should be so unconditional, and take no account of such matters as the proper color of a fan, and what it told of a noble lady's boudoir. But why, he was asking himself, had he chosen that particular poem from all the poems he knew?