“I don't know. She isn't well."

“Girls,” he said, shrugging. “You danced well tonight."

“I danced badly. I would not dance well for that scorpion."

That made him laugh. “You did leave out the best part of the mimei."

“Of course I did. I want to dance that only for you."

“Lui has gone to bed, or I'd ask you to."

“Oh, I don't need a drummer. Here, here's my drum.” She took his hands and put them on her full breasts. “Feel the beat?” she said. She stood, struck the pose, raised her arms, and began the dance, there right in front of him, till he seized her, burying his face between her thighs, and she sank down on him laughing.

Hehum came out into the dancing room; she drew back, seeing them, but Modh untangled herself from her husband and went to the old woman.

“Mal is ill,” Hehum began, with a worried face.

“Oh I knew it, I knew it!” Modh cried, instantly certain that it was her fault, that her lie had made itself truth. She ran to Mal's room, which she shared with her so long.

Hehum followed her. “She hides her ears,” she said, “I think she has the earache. She cries and hides her ears."

Mal sat up when Modh came into the room. She looked wild and haggard. “You hear it, you hear it, don't you?” she cried, taking Modh's hands.

“No,” Modh murmured, “no, I don't hear it. I hear nothing. There is nothing, Mal."

Mal stared up at her. “When he comes,” she whispered.

“No,” Mal said.

“Groda comes with him."

“No. It was years ago, years ago. You have got to be strong, Mal, you have got to put all that away."

Mal let out a piteous, loud moan and put Modh's hands up over her own ears. “I don't want to hear it!” she cried, and began to sob violently.

“Tell my husband I will spend this night with Mal,” Modh said to Hehum. She held her sister in her arms till she slept at last, and then she slept too, though not easily, waking often, listening always.