I came out from Sarugakucho to the street in Jimbocho, and turned toward Ogawamachi. The purpose of my walking in this neighborhood was always to browse the old bookshops, but that day I could not bring myself to glance at worn-out books at all. As I walked, I was constantly thinking of home. I had the memory of the mistress from earlier. And I had imaginings of what had happened after the young lady returned home. In other words, I was being made to walk by these two things. Moreover, I would sometimes stop short in the middle of the road without realizing it. And then I would think: by now the mistress must be telling her that story. At other times I thought: by now that talk must be over.
I ended up crossing Manseibashi, climbing the Myojin slope, coming to Hongochi, then going down Kikuzaka, and finally descending into the valley of Koishikawa. The distance I walked spanned these three districts and might be said to have drawn a lopsided circle, but during this long walk I scarcely thought of K at all. Looking back on myself of that time and asking myself why, I cannot understand it at all. I only find it strange. If one says my mind was so tense on one side that it could forget K, that is one thing, but my conscience should never have permitted it.
My conscience toward K revived at the moment I opened the lattice gate of the house and was passing from the entrance to the sitting room—that is, when I was about to go through his room as usual. He was reading at his desk as always. As always, he looked up from his book and saw me. But he did not say as usual, "Just got back?" Instead he asked, "Is your illness better? Did you go to a doctor?" In that instant, I wanted to put my hands to the floor before him and apologize. And the impulse I felt then was by no means weak. If K and I had been standing alone even in the middle of a wilderness, I think I would surely have obeyed the command of my conscience and apologized to him then and there. But there were people in the back of the house. My nature was immediately checked right there. And, sadly, it never revived again.
At dinner K and I met again. Knowing nothing, K was merely downcast, and did not once direct a suspicious eye at me. Knowing nothing, the mistress seemed happier than usual. I alone knew everything. I ate my rice like lead. The young lady did not join us at the usual table as she always did. When the mistress urged her, she only answered from the next room, "Coming in a moment." K listened to this with a puzzled look. At last he asked the mistress what was the matter. The mistress said she was probably just embarrassed, and glanced at my face. K, still puzzled, pressed on, asking why she should be embarrassed. The mistress smiled and looked at my face again.
From the mistress's expression at the start of the meal, I had roughly guessed how things had gone. But I thought it would be unbearable to have it all explained before me in front of K. And since the mistress was a woman who could do even that much without a care, I was on tenterhooks. Fortunately K returned to his former silence. The mistress, somewhat more cheerful than usual, also ultimately did not advance the story to the point of my feared involvement. I breathed a sigh of relief and returned to my room. But I could not help thinking: what attitude should I take toward K from now on? I fashioned various defenses in my own breast. But none of them were enough to face K with. Cowardly as I was, I finally grew weary of explaining myself to K.