and subdued would hardly welcome the suggestion that she should perform before a stranger. ‘Of course,’ said Genji, ‘a thing of that kind could only be suggested between people who were on familiar terms or to someone of very different rank. This lady’s rank, as I am perfectly well aware, entitles her to be treated with every consideration, and I would not ask you to do more than hint at my desire.’ He had promised to meet someone else that night and carefully disguising himself he was preparing to depart when Myōbu said laughing ‘It amuses me sometimes to think how the Emperor deplores the too strict and domesticated life which he suffers you to lead. What would he think if he could see you disguising yourself like this?’ Genji laughed. ‘I am afraid,’ he said as he left the room, ‘that you are not quite the right person to denounce me. Those who think such conduct reprehensible in a man must find it even less excusable in a girl.’ She remembered that Genji had often been obliged to reproach her for her reckless flirtations, and blushing made no reply.
Still hoping to catch a glimpse of the zithern-player he crept softly towards her window. He was about to hide at a point where the bamboo-fence was somewhat broken down when he perceived that a man was already ensconced there. Who could it be? No doubt it was one of the princess’s lovers and he stepped back to conceal himself in the darkness. The stranger followed him and turned out to be no other than Tō no Chūjō. That evening they had left the Palace together, but when they parted Genji (Chūjō had noticed) did not either go in the direction of the Great Hall nor back to his own palace. This aroused Chūjō’s curiosity and, despite the fact that he too had a secret appointment that night, he decided first to follow Genji and discover what was afoot. So riding upon a strange horse and wearing a hunting-cloak, he had got himself up
