The chief samurai was uncertain how to act respecting her, for she presumed to mock at him, and mimic his rolling swagger and pompous stride, rating him the while for tardiness,--a lamentable lack of punctuality. Who was this forward wench? he asked, awaking from dumb amazement, who, respecting neither place nor persons, mumbled sweetmeats between cherry lips, and, tapping a garish fan, shouted for the performance to commence! It was O'Kikú some one said, a celebrated dancer and spoilt beauty from distant Kamakura, who was in the habit of walking upon hearts, of attaching herself to richest youths like a tarantula, and quickly sucking them dry. She was on a pilgrimage to the groves of Isé--for even frail and flighty young ladies have souls that require doctoring--but hearing of what was toward, and the temptation great, had gaily tossed aside her pilgrim robes of white, and postponed her journey and her prayers. But now, even naughty and irrepressible O'Kikú was hushed to silence, for there was another flourish, and, stately and slow, with all the pomp of state, the procession of the Daimio marched across the bridge. Very handsome the two brothers looked as, in full dress, and wearing the courtly Naga-bakama (full long trousers of red silk), they moved with a lady between them--a lady who, by her exceeding stateliness and unusual pallor, riveted the attention of the geisha. "Patrician to the finger ends," muttered the latter approvingly. "I have never seen so high-bred a lady--no, not even among the gorgeous court of the Shogun in distant Kamakura--as noble in bearing as her two supporters. Which is the Daimio, I wonder? The older one, of course."