"If I were one of my women," she said, "I could not tell you. If I were only my own simple woman-self I could not tell you for the shame that I should feel. But I am a chief, and as a chief I can speak. I have the right to choose whom I would have for partner of my life, and I have chosen you." "Chosen me?" cried Hilton, with a look of disgust at the tall, handsome woman before him. "Yes; because I love you," she replied. "He knows that I love you. I read it weeks ago in his eyes." "Have you been a partner to this accursed outrage, Chumbley?" cried Hilton fiercely. "No, dear boy; not _to_, I'm a partner _in_ it," said Chumbley, coolly. "Wise question that of yours. Was it likely?" "No," said the Princess, "he did not know; but you were great friends and companions, and I brought you both. I love you." He looked at her indignantly. "I like your friend," she continued, turning and smiling at Chumbley, "he is so good-natured and big, and manly, and strong. I always feel as if he would be a man whom I could trust." She held out her soft, shapely hand to him, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, Chumbley took it in his, pressed it warmly, and then raised it to his lips before it was withdrawn. Hilton stamped his foot upon the bamboo floor, and then burst into a derisive laugh. "Is this real, Chumbley?" he cried, "or is it part of a play?" "I know what you mean by part of a play," cried the Princess, whose eyes began to flash as she felt the sting of Hilton's words. "It is no false make-believe, but real. I told you without shame, as a chief, that I love you, and that is why I brought you here." "I am greatly honoured by your attention, madam," said Hilton, mockingly. "Listen to me," cried the Princess, "while I remind you that I am a poor oppressed woman. I have been trampled upon by my enemies, because I am a woman. I am constantly plundered; my people are cruelly treated; and soon I shall be a princess no longer, for my people will say that I am no mother and protector to them, and they will leave me." "And pray, madam, what is this to me?" said Hilton, coldly. "Do you forget that I have heard all this before?" "What is it to you?" said the Inche Maida, drawing herself up, and speaking fiercely now. "Did I not tell you that I loved you? From the first day I saw you I loved you, and said you should be my lord." "'Pon my honour, Chumbley," cried Hilton, "this is too ridiculous!" and he looked his indignation. "Why, what a handsome fellow I must be. Are we going back into the regions of romance?" "Mind what you are saying," said Chumbley, quietly, as he saw a fierce look of anger in the Inche Maida's eyes, lit by the mocking, contemptuous manner in which Hilton listened to her words.