"The old sport! So this has been his game," muttered Gwendolen to
herself.
At the full name of Hagané, a wintry smile of pride had flashed into
Iriya's set face.
"Whe-e-ew!" whistled Dodge, again. He could not get this wonder fixed.
"I see now why your family is wound up like a spring, Miss Yuki. It's a
superlative opportunity for you!"
Gwendolen sat so still that first Yuki, then Dodge, stared at her.
"What is it you think I can do with Pierre for you, Yuki?" asked the
American girl, in a voice as strange as her silence.
Yuki was slightly disconcerted. "Only, dear, that I want to be sure the
truth is known to Mr. Le Beau. I would have more peace to feel that he
knows correctly. And he then will understand why I cannot write to him,
or see him, or answer when he sings the song of Carmen I told you."
"You intend then to hold to Pierre, and throw over Prince Hagané, no
matter what the consequences?" asked Gwendolen, curiously.
"I know not about 'throw over.' It sounds a disrespectful word to so
great a man. But I am bound to Pierre, as you know, by the promise."
Again her face flushed.
"I'll wager your father does not consider that promise binding," put in
Dodge.
"No, not my father, and not Prince Hagané," said Yuki, simply. "But
then, you know, they is not me!"
"I--er--presume not," answered he, absently.
Now that the conversation was all in English, the pale effigy of Iriya
did not even turn its eyes from one face to the other. It was her duty
to her husband to be present, and so she remained.
"Miss Yuki!" flashed out the young man, with new animation. "You haven't
asked my advice, and you may not desire it. But let me say one thing. It
seems awful to me,--even though I am an American, and can't know all the
fine points of Japanese feeling,--to throw over a chance like this for a
Frenchman! Is he worth it--?"
"How would it seem if you were in the place of Pierre Le Beau?" cried
Gwendolen, angrily, before Yuki could speak.
The Japanese girl evidently was glad of the question. "Yes, yes!" she
repeated. "How would you be?" She hung on his answer.
The young man's eyes were cool, his voice crisp and convincing, as he
said slowly, "In the first place, I could not imagine myself having
forced any binding promise from a girl so far from her home and friends.
I might have let her see I loved her,--a fellow can't always help that;
but I wouldn't have tied her up in her own words until she had the
backing of her own people."
Gwendolen was all ready with a scornful word, but Yuki's small ice-cold
hand upon her wrist restrained her. Yuki was leaning toward the young
man, an eager gleam in her eyes. "Mr. Dodge, what was it that you meant
by the su-per-lative opportunity--?"
"I seem to be turned into a sort of Information Bureau on other people's
morals to-day," smiled Dodge. "But this is an easy one. I meant just
what a Japanese would mean,--a rousing good chance for patriotism. Isn't
that what you thought?"
Yuki's face fell, and her lips trembled. "Yes," she whispered like a
child. "That is Japanese thought."
"How lofty and superior! A Confucius come to judgment!" cried Gwendolen
to Dodge. His calmness, his power of thought, so soon after their fatal
quarrel, irritated her. It almost seemed to make light of her influence.
Since she could not command, she wished at least to sting him.
"And, Yuki, now _I_ have advice to give. If I loved Pierre as you
do,--if I loved any man so that the thought of another turned me
sick,--I'd be faithful to him until those old moat pines turned
somersaults and came up again as grass! I'd marry him, though Jimmu
Tenno, with a new sword and mirror, came down to prevent! You say that
Pierre goes by here whistling. What's to hinder you from going to him?
The women here would not prevent. Some time like this, when your father
is absent,--mind, I don't advise the doing it,--only, I say, if you were
tortured and driven to despair--"
Yuki stopped her by a gesture. "Even that terrible thought has been
thinked by me. But even if I wished it,--go to those garden shoji,
Gwendolen. Open with some noisiness, and see what occurs."
Gwendolen obeyed with vehemence, placing one still booted foot defiantly
upon the veranda. Instantly, as if by magic, the two blue-clad gardeners
crouched, in threatening attitudes, on the gravelled path below. At
sight of the tall blonde girl the men literally froze into grizzled
gargoyles. Gwendolen drew back with a cry, then instantly realized the
situation.
"Vile spies!" she exclaimed. "Hired assassins! If there were a man here,
he would drown you in that pond! Go away! Shoo!" she shrieked at the
astonished natives. Without a word, they exchanged slow, wondering
glances, nodded, and withdrew.
Gwendolen slammed the shoji together again. "No wonder you are pale,
Yuki," she said, her voice trembling with excitement and indignation; "I
never dreamed anybody would dare a thing like this!"
"But how intensely romantic!" remarked Dodge, in a low voice, to the
ceiling.
Yuki did not try to answer. Her head drooped lower, lower, with each
instant. Tears were coming in uncontrollable throbs to eyes that had,
through deeper troubles, remained dry. This humiliation before friends
of another world touched some secret personal spring of pride. She
lifted first one gray sleeve, then the other, apologizing in low, broken
sentences for the vulgarity of thus displaying grief. Gwendolen threw
herself to the floor beside her friend, her own bright eyes becoming
springs of sorrow. Dodge rose, standing helplessly near, and wishing
himself somewhere else.
Upon this lachrymosal tableau entered Tetsujo Onda, and stood for a
moment incredulous, in the parted fusuma, like some image of Ojin Tenno,
the God of War, a scowl carved deep in his brow. Gwendolen first caught
sight of him. Rising to her knees, she tried by looks to wither him
away. She might as well have blown seed-arrows from an iron dandelion.
Dodge, the diplomat, rushed gallantly to the fore.
"Good-morning, Mr. Onda," he began, bowing spasmodically. "Fine morning,
isn't it? We were just making a little call in the neighborhood, and ran
in to see your wife and daughter,--foreign custom, you know!--and the
young ladies have to talk and weep sometimes over their happy, vanished
school days!"
"Ugh!" grunted the unwilling host, scantily returning one of the many
bows.
"Just so--just so," said Dodge, with increasing cordiality. "And now we
must bid you good day. Miss Todd and I were just on the point of
starting. This is the daughter--the only child, you know--of the new
American minister to Japan."
"I know of her, and you, and the Frenchman, and much else," said Onda,
with a disconcerting warp of the lips meant for a smile.
"Go! If you love me, make quick goings," whispered Yuki, with her arms
around Gwendolen's neck.
"With nothing settled--no appointment for you and--"
"It is hopeless," put in Yuki, instantly. "Mention no name! They will
guard me now much closer. Oh, it's my father's doing, not Hagané; he is
noble!"
"Then I will see--the other, and tell him clearly. How shall I let you
know?"
"A telegram. No one will keep that from me. Send it in English,--in hard
words, you understand! And, oh, Gwendolen, send it to-morrow before
twilight. Pray for me!"
Ignoring Tetsujo's increasing rage, Yuki followed her friend to the very
door, pausing for a last embrace. "You are my good friend--my golden
friend! Nothing between our hearts can ever come. Ne?"
"Never! Never! Ne?" answered Gwendolen, trying to smile.
Yuki turned, and went back as a prisoner to an inky cell.
* * * * *
Out on the street, at the carriage-step, two pleasing Americans paused,
and eyed each other much with the expression of a pair of young
game-cocks.
"Well!" said the tan-colored fowl, superbly, "why do you hesitate? Is it
to beg paw-don of some one?"
"I beg paw-don?" echoed the other, in mild surprise. "No, certainly not!
How could you fawncy such a thing? Do _you_?"
Gwendolen, with a muffled exclamation, sprang unaided into the carriage.
"Go on! Hurry up! American Legation--Koshikwan, I mean! This beastly
lingo--" she cried to the driver, and so far forgot herself as to prod
him in the American flags.
The startled servant looked down and over her, to Dodge, for
confirmation.
"It's all right, betto!" said Dodge, airily, in Japanese. "I prefer
walking back. Take the august young lady home by a long, long road! She
has become honorably overheated!"
Gwendolen gave the speaker one helpless glare, threw herself back in the
seat, and was gone.
Dodge stood in the middle of the road, looking after the carriage until
bamboo hedges closed in upon it, and the noises of its rattling wheels
faded into the myriad sounds of the city below him.