He had started to take her in his arms, but hesitated now, held his hands a little apart from her, suddenly fearing Mim and her strangeness. Her gown was beautiful and had cost days of work which he had watched; he did not know ‘< how to undo it, or if this was expected of him. And Mim herself was as complex and unknowable, wrapped in customs for which Kta's instructions had not prepared him. He remembered the frightened child that Kta had found among the Tamurlin, and feared that she would suddenly see him as human and loathe him, without the robes and ; the graces that made him-outwardly-nemet. "Mim," he said. "I would never see any harm come to you." "It is a strange thing to say, my lord." "I am afraid for you," he said suddenly. "Mim, I do love you." She smiled a little, then laughed, down-glancing. He treasured the gentle laugh; it was Mini at her prettiest. And she slipped her hands about his waist and hugged him tightly, her strong slim arms dispelling the fear that she would break. "Kurt," she said, "Kta is a dear man, most honored of me. I know that you and he have spoken of me. Is this \ not so?" "Yes," he said. "Kta has spoken to me too; he fears for me. I honor his concern. It is for both of us. But I trust your heart where I do not know your ways; I know if ever you hurt me, it would be much against your will." She slipped her warm hands to his. "Let us have tea, my husband, a first warming of our hearth." That was much against his will, but it pleased her. She lit the small room-stove, which also heated, and boiled water and made them tea, which they enjoyed sitting on the bed together. He had much on his mind but little to say; neither did Mini, but she looked often at him. "Is it not enough tea?" he asked finally, with the same patient courtesy he always used in Elas, which Kta had taught his unwilling spirit. But this time there was great earnestness in the question, which brought a shy smile from Mim. "What is your custom now?" she asked of him. "What is yours?" he asked. "I do not know," she admitted, down-glancing and seeming distressed. Then for the first time he realized, and felt pained for his thoughtlessness: she had never been with a man of her own kind, nor with any man of decency. "Put up the teacups," he said, "and come here, Mim." The light of morning came through the window and Kurt stirred in his sleep, his hand finding the smoothness of Mim beside him, and he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark and heavy on her golden cheeks, her full lips relaxed in dreams. A little scar marred her temple, as others not so slight marked her back and hips, and that anyone could have abused Mim was a thought he could not bear. He moved, leaned on his arm across her and touched his lips to hers, smoothed aside the dark and shining veil of hair that flowed across her and across the pillows, and she stirred, responding sweetly to his morning kiss. "Mim," he said, "good morning." Her arms went around his neck. She pulled herself up and kissed him back. Then she blinked back tears, which he made haste to wipe away. "Mim?" he questioned her, much troubled, but she smiled at him and even laughed. "Dear Kurt," she said, holding his face between her hands. And then, breaking for the side of the bed, she began to wriggle free. "Ei, ei, my lord, I must hurry-you must hurry-the sun is up. The guests will be waiting." "Guests?" he echoed, dismayed. "Mim-" But she was already slipping into her dressing gown, then pattering away into the bath. He heard her putting wood into the stove. "It is custom," she said, putting her head back through the doorway of the bath. "They come back at dawn to breakfast with us. Oh please, Kurt, please, hurry to be ready. They will be downstairs already, and if we are much past dawning, they will laugh."