while their lips ejaculated exclamations of amazement or chanted
meles of old and unforgotten days.

"What would you, Sister Martha? You know what we Hawaiians are.
You know what we were half a hundred years ago. Lilolilo was
wonderful. I was reckless. Lilolilo of himself could make any
woman reckless. I was twice reckless, for I had cold, grey Nahala
to spur me on. I knew. I had never a doubt. Never a hope.
Divorces in those days were undreamed. The wife of George Castner
could never be queen of Hawaii, even if Uncle Robert's prophesied
revolutions were delayed, and if Lilolilo himself became king. But
I never thought of the throne. What I wanted would have been the
queendom of being Lilolilo's wife and mate. But I made no mistake.
What was impossible was impossible, and I dreamed no false dream.

"It was the very atmosphere of love. And Lilolilo was a lover. I
was for ever crowned with leis by him, and he had his runners bring
me leis all the way from the rose-gardens of Mana--you remember
them; fifty miles across the lava and the ranges, dewy fresh as the
moment they were plucked, in their jewel-cases of banana bark;
yard-long they were, the tiny pink buds like threaded beads of
Neapolitan coral. And at the luaus" (feasts) the for ever never-
ending luaus, I must be seated on Lilolilo's Makaloa mat, the
Prince's mat, his alone and taboo to any lesser mortal save by his
own condescension and desire. And I must dip my fingers into his
own pa wai holoi" (finger-bowl) "where scented flower petals
floated in the warm water. Yes, and careless that all should see
his extended favour, I must dip into his pa paakai for my pinches
of red salt, and limu, and kukui nut and chili pepper; and into his
ipu kai" (fish sauce dish) "of kou wood that the great Kamehameha