"I see," she answered severely. "Am I no longer worthy the robe of festivity?"
"Ah, Ta-meri, thou dost wrong me," he said. "Chide me, but impugn me not. Nay, I am on my way to Tape. I was summoned hurriedly and am already dismissed upon mine errand, but I could not use myself so ill as to postpone my visit for eighteen days."
She jeered at him prettily.
"To hear thee one would think thou hadst been coming as often as
Nechutes."
"How often does Nechutes come?"
"Every day."
"Of late?" he asked, with a laugh in his eyes.
"Nay," she answered sulkily. "Not since the day—that day!"
Kenkenes was silent for a moment. Then he put his elbow on the arm of her chair and leaned his head against his hand. The attitude brought him close to her.
"All these days," he said at length, "he has been unhappy among the happy and the unhappiest among the sad. He has summoned the shuddering Pantheon, to hear him vow eternal unfealty to thee, Ta-meri—and lo! while they listened he begged their most potent charm to hold thee to him still. Poor Nechutes!"