“She is very lovely.”
“I perceive that you do not love the queen,” said he; and then, after a moment, but severely—“Do you love me, Lavarcham?”
“I do love you indeed,” she answered gravely.
“But,” he insisted, “do you love anybody else as well as me?”
“I love nobody else except my babe.”
“Ah, that fabulous babe! Is she still getting new teeth, or what is it she is getting now?”
“She is getting to be a beautiful young girl, master.”
“Ah, yes, you told me that.”
“She is thirteen years of age.”
“But tell me now, my heart, why did you draw the talk a moment ago to queens and their hate and restlessness?”