Over a month had passed by since his return home. One day in the month of May, when the fields were ablaze with a burning glory of azaleas, and the sun touched their wild crimson with dazzling splendor, Orito told his father and Omi of his love for the American girl. He had invited them both to go with him to Okubo, the western suburb of the capital, to see some new variety of the azalea; for with the birth of each new flower, every month, the Japanese celebrate fêtes in their honor. The noisy crowd of pleasure-seekers had driven them away from the scene, however, to a more secluded spot in the woods. Here Orito had told them, very gently but firmly, of his love for the beautiful American girl. The two old men remained perfectly silent, looking at each other with haggard, uncomprehending eyes. The dream of their life was shattered. There had not been a time since Numè was born that they had not talked joyously of the marriage of their two children, and in their strong pride in Orito they had sent him to America to become very learned and accomplished. It had seemed to them, sometimes, that the eight years never would come to an end. Now Orito had returned to them, but alas, how changed! He stood by them, slim and quiet, his face sad but determined, waiting for his father to speak.
"What does this mean?" he said, sharply. "Do you then wish to go against the command of your father? Must I then say I have lost my son?"
"No, father--I will be more your son than ever."
"Duty!" he said, sternly. "That is the watchword for a Japanese. Did you forget that in America? Have you ceased to be Japanese?--duty first of all to your parents, to the wife and children to come, and last to yourself."
Omi now spoke. "Orito," he said, and his voice was quite dazed and stupid, "you really speak only in jest. Surely, it is now too late to change."
"It would be too late had the marriage taken place--it is not too late now. Not so long as I have not ruined Numè's happiness as well as my own."
"Perhaps after you think this over you will change, my son," Sachi said, gently.
"Nay, father, I would rather see you reconciled. I cannot change in this. You do not understand. I love her with all my heart, and if--if she were impossible to me, I should surely die."