Kodama—I like not my kinsman. He is a fool and a magpie.
Halima—He is young and handsome, full of fire and poetry.
Kodama—Full of deceit and treachery, with honeyed words that mean nothing. But yesterday he raved of a maiden whom he met in the desert. To-day he is mad for thy—
Halima—For my—?
Kodama—For thy dancing slave. To-morrow he will go to the desert with another nightingale piping at his elbow. He knows not constancy, but flies from one deluded maiden to another.
Halima—Surely thou wrongest him.
Kodama—I wrong him not. We shall not talk of him.... Thy shimmering hair has hidden thine ear. Let me put it back.
Halima—Oh, Kodama, thou hast never praised my hair before. See, it is a fountain of living gold!
Kodama—(Quickly.) Who told thee that?
Halima—My ... women.