“While I have no wife,” Conachúr replied, “the people will talk of the wife I had, and the only way to stop that is to give them something else to talk of.”
“It is true, indeed,” said Lavarcham.
“I foresee,” he continued, “that I shall be compelled to marry some one I do not care for.”
“In that case, master, you will be saved the trouble of choosing, for you may take the first that comes.”
“They seem to resemble one another like peas in a pod. Are women all alike, my friend?”
“They are much of a pattern, master.”
“And yet——” said the king, brooding deeply on one that had fled.
“Our little ward,” Lavarcham continued thoughtfully, “is rather unusual.”
“What age is she now?” said the dull king.
“Sixteen years and a few months.”