Scene VI.--Sittah's _harem_.

Sittah _and_ Recha _engaged in conversation_.

SITTAH.

How I am pleased with you, sweet girl. But, come,
Shake off these fears, and be no more alarmed,
Be happy, cheerful. Let me hear you talk.

RECHA.

Princess!
SITTAH.

Nay, child, not princess! Call me friend,
Or Sittah--or your sister--or dear mother,
For I might well be so to you--so good,
So prudent, and so young! How much you know,
How much you must have read!

RECHA.

Read, Sittah! now
You're mocking me, for I can scarcely read.

SITTAH.

Scarce read, you young deceiver!

RECHA.

Yes, perhaps
My father's hand; I thought you spoke of books.

SITTAH.

And so I did--of books.

RECHA.

They puzzle me
To read.

SITTAH.

Indeed!

RECHA.

I speak, in veriest truth.
My father hates book-learning, which he says,
Makes an impression only on the brain
With lifeless letters.

SITTAH.

Well, he's right in that.
And so the greater part of what you know----

RECHA.

I've learnt from his own mouth, and I can tell
The when, the where, and why he taught it me.

SITTAH.

So it clings closer, and the soul drinks in
The full instruction.

RECHA.

Yes, and Sittah, too,
Has not read much.

SITTAH.

How so? I am not vain
Of having read, and yet why say you so?
Speak boldly. Tell the reason.

RECHA.

She's so plain--
So free from artifice--so like herself.

SITTAH.

Well!

RECHA.

And my father says 'tis rarely books
Work that effect.