were the children of the house that a great deal more trouble was taken about them than is usually the case. Yūgiri certainly seemed to have repaid this care. In the ordinary affairs of life he showed great judgment and good-sense, and Genji had the comfortable feeling that whatever went amiss, Yūgiri at least could always be relied upon.
The little girl was only seven years old and dolls were still her principal interest. Yūgiri, who a year or two ago used so often to play just such games with his little companion at the Great Hall, made an excellent major-domo of the doll’s-house, though the part, bringing as it did a host of recollections to his mind, was often a painful one. Indeed more than once he was obliged to turn away for an instant, his eyes full of tears. During these visits he naturally met many of the princess’s other playmates, and a great deal of chattering took place on every conceivable subject. He took his share in these conversations; but he did not get to know any of the little girls at all well, nor did they, so far as he could see, take any particular interest in him. Was all that side of life forever to be closed to him? Yūgiri asked himself. But though this was the thought which instantly recurred to him during these meetings, his outward behaviour seemed only to betoken complete indifference. His green badge![1] Yes, it was that which lay at the bottom not only of these smaller troubles but also of the great disaster[2] which had wrecked all his chances of happiness.
Sometimes the idea came to him that if he simply went straight to Kumoi’s father and tackled him about the matter—insisted, shouted, made a great scene—Tō no Chūjō would suddenly give in. But he had suffered enough
