Not only Tō no Chūjō but all his sons were there—Kashiwagi, Kōbai, and the rest, but Princess Ōmiya would not receive any of them behind her curtains-of-state. Sayemon no Kami and Gon Chūnagon, who were not her own children but had been born to the late Minister of the Left by another wife, were also in the habit of calling, out of respect to their father’s memory, and on this occasion, thinking to please and interest their step-mother, they had brought their little sons with them. But the only result was that, comparing them in her mind with her favourite Yūgiri, she thought them very ugly, unattractive little boys. Yūgiri and Kumoi, these were the only grandchildren for whom she really cared. And now the little girl who had been her delight, upon whom she had lavished so much tenderness and care,—Kumoi, who for all these years had never left her side, was to be taken from her and put into a stranger’s hands.
‘I have to go to the Palace now,’ said Tō no Chūjō quickly. ‘I will come back towards nightfall and fetch Kumoi away.’
He had thought the matter out very carefully and decided that even if it should afterwards prove necessary for him to consent to this match, it was not one which he would ever be able to regard with any satisfaction. However, when Yūgiri had begun his career it would be possible to see of what stuff he was made and also to judge the strength of his feeling for Kumoi. If the boy still remained anxious to marry her the betrothal could be announced in a proper way and the whole affair be carried through without discredit to anybody. But so long as they were allowed to frequent the same house, however much they were scolded and watched, it was, considering their age, only to be expected that they would get into a scrape. He could not put it like this to his mother, because to do so would have
