Kareema swung her legs to the ground with another giggle. "Wah! Men are men all the world over, and so are women. Yea! 'tis true." She looked like some gay butterfly as she flashed out into the sunlight, and began with outstretched arms and floating veil to imitate the sidelong graces of a dancing girl.
"Hai! Hai! Bad one!" cried a quavering voice behind her, as an old woman clutching for scant covering at a dirty white sheet shambled forward. "Can I not close an eye but thou must bring iniquity to respectable houses? 'Tis all thy scapegrace husband; for when I brought thee hither thou wast meek-spirited and--"
"Deck me not out with lies, nurse," laughed Kareema. "Sure I was ever to behaviour as a babe to walking--unsteady on its legs. So wast thou as a bride; so are all women." She seized the withered old arms as she spoke, and threw them up in an attitude. "Dance, Mytâben! dance! 'Tis the best way."
The forced frown faded hopelessly before the young, dimpling face. "Kareema! Why will'st not be decent like little Feroz yonder?"
"Why? Because my man thinks I'm pretty! Because I've fine clothes! Feroza hath old green trousers and her man is learning to be 'wise,' forsooth! amongst the mems. So she is jealous--"
"I'm not jealous," interrupted the other hotly.
"Peace, peace, little doves!" expostulated the old nurse. "Feroz is no fool to be jealous of a mem. Holy Prophet, Kareem! hadst thou seen them at Delhi as I have--"
"Inaiyut hath seen them too. He saith they are as houris in silk and satins with bare breasts and arms--"
Mytâben's bony fingers crackled in a shake of horrified denial. "Silence! shameless one! I tell thee they have no beauty, no clothes--"
"There! I said they had no clothes," pouted Kareema.