“Why do you not marry him?”
“That is Falani’s affair. I suppose he is not willing that we should marry.”
“Then you must leave him at once,” said Laifone, with the air of having dismissed the subject, and turned to the story-teller with a question.
The girl did not move. She had pulled her straw to pieces, and now deliberately reached for another. She looked comely in the lamplight which touched the clear red skin, threw deep shadows into the eyes, and glinted through her glistening auburn curls. The kava-stones rang out again, and conversation became general. The policeman touched her arm. She shook him off impatiently, threw her head back, and looking Laifone full in the face, said, “I shall not leave Falani.”
There was a dead silence. The kava-pounder paused with stone uplifted. Laifone stared at her, half amused and half angry.
“You must leave him, or be punished,” he said, and muttered something about a beautiful girl wasted.
But the policeman was scandalised and indignant. “You impudent woman,” he cried, “you have insulted the Governor and the chiefs. You have no shame, and you are impudent.” Then turning to Laifone he cried, “Is Vavau to become heathen because of this evil-minded woman? It has become a by-word. Religion is despised because of her. We look to you, Laifone. I pray you leave her to us, the police, to deal with her. We will bring her to obedience.”
“Take her away then.”
He sprang up, seized her roughly by the arm, lifted her to her feet, dragged her to the door, and, with a sudden jerk, pulled her whimpering out into the darkness. A man at the back of the room followed them out.
“A strong-minded woman,” said Laifone. “Pound the kava.”