Even while the minister in the coolness of his study softly and gently
questioned his faltering “convert,” a wily and smooth-speaking Nakoda
was visiting her step-mother. Madame Yamada, as the latter was called,
knew the marriage broker well, and being the mother of two daughters by
a marriage previous to that with Azalea’s father, she welcomed him with
more than usual cordiality.
Would not the estimable Mr. Okido remove his shoes and eat the noon meal
within her humble house?
The estimable Mr. Okido would. Madame Yamada sent a scullery maid flying
to his feet, where, kneeling in the humblest attitude, she removed his
dusty sandals. Then she brought fresh water with which to bathe his
feet.
Madame Yamada, who had not engaged the services of Okido, was curious to
know the nature of his mission to her. She disguised her curiosity,
however, under the blandest of manners. With swift acuteness she
introduced her daughters into the room and had them serve the man,
throughout the meal glancing under her eyelashes to watch the effect of
her daughters’ sundry charms upon the Nakoda, who she knew would not
fail to dwell upon all such points with his employer. But strangely
enough, Okido scarcely seemed to notice the presence of her daughters,
and ate his meal in somewhat stolid silence. After the repast he
permitted the pipe to be lighted for him and proceeded to smoke at his
leisure.
Madame Yamada could contain her curiosity no longer. At a sign from her,
her daughters withdrew. Then she addressed the Nakoda.
“In what way,” she asked, “is the humblest one indebted to the esteemed
Okido for his honorable visit?”
Okido put down the pipe on the hibachi and, turning toward Madame
Yamada, looked at her keenly.
“You have daughters, Madame Yamada.”
“Two,” she answered promptly.
“Three,” said Okido slowly.
The esteemed one was mistaken. The gods had only blessed her with two.
Nay, the gods had been kinder. Were there not three, including her
step-daughter?
“Ah, yes.” Madame Yamada smiled coldly.
“Let me repeat,” he said slowly. “You have daughters.”
“Yes;” she allowed the word to escape her lips impatiently. Would the
stupid broker never come to his business?
“And I,” said Okido, “have a client who desires the hand of one of your
daughters.”
A red spot appeared in either of Madame Yamada’s cheeks.
“What is the name of his honorable parent?” she asked, no longer
attempting to conceal her interest.
Okido leaned toward her impressively.
“His name is Matsuda Isami.”
Madame Yamada’s hands trembled. She scarcely could control her voice.
“What—the——”
“Yes, the rich Matsuda Isami.”
The woman thrilled with maternal pride. Her bosom heaved. “And which of
my daughters,” she asked, “has pleased the taste of the exalted
Matsuda?”
Okido rubbed his hands softly.
“That one,” he said, “who is augustly named Azalea.”
Madame Yamada started to her feet with a cry. Then recalling herself she
sat down again and for a space of a long moment did not stir. She
regarded the Nakoda with baleful eyes. Suddenly she found her voice.
“Excellent Okido,” she said, “the humble one cannot marry the youngest
of her daughters first. Pray return to the exalted Matsuda and say from
me that I am willing to consent to his marriage to my oldest daughter.”
“What!” cried the amazed Okido, “you refuse?”
“Who spoke of refusing?” she asked in an agitated voice.
“Your answer is a refusal, Madame.”
The woman was silent, her mind busily at work.
“Listen, Okido,” she finally said, “a promise was made by me to the
august father, now dead, of the girl Azalea. He bade me promise him that
Azalea should be given to no one in marriage save with her own consent.
So! I withdraw the offer of my oldest daughter as bride to Matsuma, and
instead say this: Bid the exalted one win first the consent of Azalea.
He is then welcome to her.”
“Good!” said Okido, arising and shaking the crumbs from his hakama. “We
will make direct suit to the maiden.”
Madame Yamada had arisen also. “Yes, that is it,” she said, “and for
that purpose heed the advice of one experienced in such matters. Let His
Excellency visit much the home of the humblest, and, in person, press
the suit.”
Okido regarded her uneasily. “My business——” he began.
“Oh, excellent Okido,” interrupted the woman, “I promise you that you
will earn your fee. Further, should the suit of your client fail—should
the girl be obstinate and refuse his proposal, bear in mind, good Okido,
that a double fee will be in your palm if my oldest daughter finds favor
in the eyes of Matsuda.”
Okido nodded his head slowly. He was thoughtful as the maid slipped on
his sandals. As he left the house he stopped at the threshold and looked
back at Madame Yamada. Her colorless face was drawn into strange lines.
Her long eyes were half closed. Upon her face there was
calculation—cold, cruel. She slowly repeated her words. Again nodding
understanding, if not assent, the marriage broker went on his way
pensively toward the house of Matsuda Isami.
[Illustration]
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