"Every day."

"Of late?" he asked, with a laugh in his eyes.

"Nay," she answered sulkily. "Not since the day--that day!"

Kenkenes was silent for a moment. Then he put his elbow on the arm of
her chair and leaned his head against his hand. The attitude brought
him close to her.

"All these days," he said at length, "he has been unhappy among the
happy and the unhappiest among the sad. He has summoned the shuddering
Pantheon, to hear him vow eternal unfealty to thee, Ta-meri--and lo!
while they listened he begged their most potent charm to hold thee to
him still. Poor Nechutes!"

"Thou dost treat it lightly," she reproached him, her eyes veiled, "but
it is of serious import to--to Nechutes."

"Nay, I shall hold my tongue. I efface myself and intercede for him,
and thou dost call it exulting. And when I am fallen from thy favor
there will be none to plead my cause, none to hide her misty eyes with
contrite lashes."

"Mine eyes are not misty," she retorted.

"Thou hast said," he admitted, in apology. "It was not a happy term.
I meant bejeweled with repentant dew."

She shook her little finger at him.