No woman can make kava like you, Ula." He toyed with her arms and neck lazily once more.

"You are the queen of my wives," he went on, in a dreamy voice.

"I like you so well, that, plump as you are, I really believe, Ula, I could never make up my mind to eat you." "My lord is very gracious," Ula made answer, in a soft, low tone, pretending to caress him.

And for some minutes more she continued to make much of him in the fulsome strain of Polynesian flattery.
At last the kava had clearly got into Tu-Kila-Kila's head.

Then Ula bent forward once more and again attacked him.