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“It may be so,” replied Moetua, doubtfully. “Maimiti says the same. She seems happy with Christian.”

“It is different with Maimiti,” Sarah put in. “Christian speaks our tongue like one of us. The others learn more slowly.”

Prudence had finished combing her hair and was beginning to plait it rapidly, with skillful fingers. She glanced up at Sarah: “How is it with you and Quintal?” she asked.

“How is he as a lover, you mean?”

“Yes, tell us that.”

Sarah glanced at the others with a wry smile. “Night comes. He sits with his chin on his great fists. What are his thoughts? I do not know. Perhaps he has none. He is silent. How could it be otherwise when he is only beginning to learn our speech? He pays no heed to me. I wait, well knowing what is to come. At last it comes. When he is wearied, he rolls on his back and snores. Atira! There is no more to tell.”

Prudence threw back her head and burst into laughter. The others joined in and the glade rang with their mirth. Sarah’s smile broadened; a moment later she was laughing no less heartily than the rest.