“What!” I exclaimed. “Has the old governor been marrying since he returned?”
“No-no!” answered Ko-Tua, smiling and blushing. “I was married to the noble Mai Lo six years ago.”
“Impossible! How old are you now?”
She looked inquiringly at Mai Mou, who answered:
“Fifteen summers has Mai Mou looked upon.”
“And you were married at nine!”
“That must be it,” she nodded, counting upon her slender fingers. “Ten—’leven—tlelve—thirt’—fourt—fliftleen!”
“It’s preposterous!” cried Joe, indignantly. “The old rascal ought to be sliced for daring to marry a child.”
“What is wrong?” asked Mai Mou, wonderingly. “Is not my little mother beautiful? Is she not nice? Is not my father’s harem well appointed and comforting?”
“Are you happy, Ko-Tua?” asked Joe, earnestly.