‘It is the truth, however,’ said Hoormut; ‘and what is more, he swore by Alla and the Prophet’s beard, if we did not receive her kindly, he would send us both home to our parents, and let them support us, for he would not.’
‘At least I need not care about that’ said Kummoo, pointedly and spitefully; ‘Inshalla! I shall always find food and clothes there; my people, Mashalla! are not poor.’
With the other it was different; for her family were poor, and had been ruinously extravagant; and even their mutual dilemma could not prevent this expression of spite from her richer sister-wife.
‘I should like to know,’ retorted Hoormut, tartly, ‘who could not?’
At any other time a quarrel would have resulted to a certainty. But now Kummoo’s mother spoke again, fortunately for the general peace.
‘So he threatened that, did he? And what said ye?’ added the old lady, more calmly; for, in truth, the sudden vision of her daughter’s return to her house, which the words she had just heard caused, were not by any means agreeable.
‘Mother, we could say nothing, for he left us,’ replied her daughter; ‘and we have sent for you to ask your advice as to what we should do,’ said Kummoo, wiping her eyes with the end of her doputta.
‘Humph!’ said the old lady, after a pause, and some most vigorous pulls at the hooka, ending in a discharge of smoke through her nostrils; ‘do you know whether the girl is beautiful?’
‘We hear she is,’ said Hoormut very reluctantly, and with an indignant toss of her head, which was repeated by the other lady.
‘Then there is no use to resist, my daughters. The old fool is bewitched with her, and all you can do is to bear the insult—for such it is—until you can revenge it. Ay, revenge it: Thou art no daughter of mine, Kummoo, if thou canst bear this like a mean-spirited thing. I never suffered any one to come between me and thy father; he tried it more than once, but, Mashalla! he got tired of that.’