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the branches of a pine tree in the garden, as well as the upper part of a wooden fence that had traces left by the carpenter's adze and a protective line of spikes at the very top. Looking down through the railing of the balcony outside the study, Keitaro noticed some white flowers at the foot of the pine and, asking Sunaga their name, was told they were snowy herons.
    Each time Keitaro visited Sunaga and was shown into this room, he could not help being reminded of the clear difference between his friend and himself, one the young master, the other not much better than a university student. And while he felt contemptuous of Sunaga for living so settled and cozy a life, he envied the comfortable though too quiet pattern of his friend's existence. He thought it bad for a youth to live in this way, yet at the same time he wanted to become what Sunaga was. This time too, with that divided interest of these two contradictory thoughts within him, Keitaro proceeded to his friend's house.
    When, after following the twisting side street, he came to the corner where it crossed the street Sunaga's house was on, he saw before him a young woman just entering the gate of the house. He had caught only a glimpse of her back, but that curiosity common to young men, combined with his own peculiar romantic strain, made him hurry to the gate as if he were being pulled there by some invisible string. He cast a glance inside, yet even the woman's shadow had vanished. He saw only that the shoji —those familiar doors whose handles were adorned with maple leaves inserted between transparent paper—were quietly closed as usual. He stood looking wistfully at the closed shoji for some time. But presently he noticed a pair of clogs, a woman's, on the stepping-stone. They had been placed neatly together, the front of them facing the inside of the house, indicating that the maid had not turned them in the proper direction. Keitaro, combining in his mind the direction of the clogs and the unexpected promptness with which the woman had gone inside, concluded she was a frequent guest, someone who had no need to announce herself and who could easily slide open the shoji. Or perhaps she was part of the household—but this latter thought seemed a little odd to him, for he knew quite well that only four persons were living there: Sunaga, his mother, a maid, and a kitchen servant.
    For a while Keitaro remained standing in front of Sunaga's gate. He wanted not so much to watch secretly from outside the wooden fence the behavior of the woman who had gone into the house as to imagine the pattern of romance being woven by her and Sunaga. But all the same he found himself listening attentively. Yet it was, as usual, quiet inside. He heard not so much as a cough and certainly no woman's amorous voice.
    His fiancee? Such was Keitaro's first thought, but his imagination had not been disciplined enough to remain content with that. I bet his mother is out with the maid visiting a relative. The kitchen servant has retired to her room. And right now Sunaga and the girl must be whispering tete-a-tete. If this were true, it would be out of place to clatter open the lattice door as he usually did and in a loud voice ask for admittance. Or perhaps Sunaga, his mother, and the maid have all gone out together, and the kitchen servant is taking a nap. At just such a moment, the woman entered the house. If so, she must be a thief. It would be unpardonable for me to go away and leave things as they are.
    Keitaro stood there in a daze as though he had been bewitched by a demon.

    Presently the shoji of the upstairs room opened, and Keitaro was awakened from his reverie by the sudden surprise of seeing Sunaga along the passageway, a green glass bottle in his hand.
    "What are you doing down there? Did you lose something?" Sunaga asked, as though he found it odd to see Keitaro just standing there. Around Sunaga's throat was a white flannel cloth. The bottle in his hand seemed to be for