"That is what one does when one loves," put in the experienced Mitsos. "How did you know, Capsina?"
She laughed.
"Have I sailed with you for weeks, and not seen the thought of Suleima with you? May not I look at you now and then? And she loves him, gray-headed, sour old Nikola? That is hardly less strange."
She looked across at the fat, white face of Christos's wife, at her slovenly habit and uncleanly hands.
"Yet there are many strange things in the world," she said. "Make Michael his dinner, will you, little Mitsos?"
Christos's wife stared with interest as Mitsos put gravy, bones, bread, and, lastly, a piece of meat in Michael's wooden bowl.
"It is not right!" she cried, shrilly; "you must not feed a dog like a Christian."
"I honor his name, cousin," said the Capsina, laughing.
"His name! That is as unsuited to a dog as his food."
"Therefore I honor him," said the Capsina; and the wife, making nothing of this, thought it more prudent to be silent; and Christos, equally puzzled, hushed her.