am afraid the princess looks upon me as a very vulgar person,’ the aunt said to Jijū one day. ‘She still thinks, despite the wretched manner in which she now lives, that to have such relations as we is a disgrace to her. At any rate I suppose that is why she is so careful never to come near us.’ It was in this somewhat malicious tone that she always discussed her niece’s behaviour.
I have noticed that people of quite common origin who have risen in the world can in a very short time achieve a perfect imitation of aristocratic importance. And similarly, if through some accident an aristocrat falls into low company, he generally exhibits a meanness so thoroughgoing that it is hard to believe he has been at any pains to acquire it. Of this second tendency the princess’s aunt was a good example. She knew that after her unfortunate marriage the people at the Hitachi Palace had regarded her as a disgrace to the family. Now that the prince was dead and Suyetsumu herself was in circumstances of such difficulty, there seemed to be quite a good chance that the princess might eventually have to take shelter under her aunt’s roof. This was what the aunt herself was looking forward to. It was her revenge. She saw the princess installed as a dependant, fetching and carrying for her daughters. And what an ideal drudge she would make, being so priggish and strait-laced that it would never be necessary to keep an eye upon her! ‘You ought to bring her round to see us sometimes,’ the aunt would say to Jijū, ‘and if you could get her to bring her zithern, so much the better; we have heard so much about her playing.’ Jijū did her best, and the princess, docile as usual, admitted that there was everything to be said in favour of paying an occasional visit. But when it came to the point, panic overwhelmed her. She would do anything, anything that Jijū asked; but she would not make
