“Alas! Macumazahn, I am rich in nothing except trouble, for my husband saves, like the ants for winter. Why, he even grudged me this poor kaross; and as for friends, he is so jealous that he will not allow me any.”
“He cannot be jealous of women, Mameena!”
“Oh, women! Piff! I do not care for women; they are very unkind to me, because—because—well, perhaps you can guess why, Macumazahn,” she answered, glancing at her own reflection in a little travelling looking-glass that hung from the woodwork of the wagon, for I had been using it to brush my hair, and smiled very sweetly.
“At least you have your husband, Mameena, and I thought that perhaps by this time—”
She held up her hand.
“My husband! Oh, I would that I had him not, for I hate him, Macumazahn; and as for the rest—never! The truth is that I never cared for any man except one whose name you may chance to remember, Macumazahn.”
“I suppose you mean Saduko—” I began.
“Tell me, Macumazahn,” she inquired innocently, “are white people very stupid? I ask because you do not seem as clever as you used to be. Or have you perhaps a bad memory?”
Now I felt myself turning red as the sky behind me, and broke in hurriedly:
“If you did not like your husband, Mameena, you should not have married him. You know you need not unless you wished.”