when they were sipping their tea in their sitting-room, Ryudo repeated his wish again to Imanishi, his pupil.
“But, don’t you think it would be far more picturesque to plant Korean variegated bamboo-grass there than reeds?”
“No, it wouldn’t!”
“Why?”
“Because …”
“But I like Korean hamboo much better.”
“Anyway, its stems are far too thick for a moorhen to live among.”
This longing to keep a moorhen was typical of Ryudo’s nature. When he caught sight of one, with the bright ribbon of scarlet crest on its forehead, running here and there among the reeds, with slender legs like new-born stems, its shy and almost bashiful nature reminded him of a maiden in her teens. But he would never tell such thoughts to Otane.
About 15 years before, he had lived in Kyoto, and at that time he had a disappointing affair with a girl of about the same age, of the merchant class. No one knew of it but his sister. At first he had regretted his conduct toward the girl, and for a long time his heart was troubled, and he suffered terribly, but with the passing of the years, time had softened his sorrow, and he could now think of her with a very good grace. Lately he had seen her in his dreams, and these sweet visions gave him extreme pleasure, and somehow the sight of a moorhen brought back memories of her.
At such times he did not care to think that by
