“My necklace was made of thirty pieces of gold,” said Ina Ria, the chief's sister. “Braided from a dozen strands, a glittering snake, cold on the skin. Ask my elder brother to show it you. Why does he keep it? Because it was part of my brideprice; how could I keep what was paid for me? Yes, I wore it for my wedding and people said I looked beautiful. Maybe I was with all that gold. Now I'm a wrinkled crone, but in those days …

“It was the time of the federations. Our father, Matanihela, was head of the Upper Susua; Tendroma was head of the Middle Susua. They both wanted an alliance. But Tendroma already had a wife. Father wouldn't have it; not for his only daughter. Besides, ever since I was a child I was promised to two other men. A lot of gold had changed hands. When they came here father made them swear that Tendroma would leave his wife. Two weeks later they returned with a cockerel for the betrothal. I refused to eat with him. They brought food to the room, slid it under the door. I pushed it away. Back they went, over the hills. They came again – forty men – with earrings, bracelets, a tiara, and laid them before the lineage. Our village beat the gongs. ‘Bring out the girl,’ they said. I'd locked myself in the room. But I thought: if I don't show myself they'll think I'm a coward. ‘We won't let it go ahead,’ said my brothers, ‘but come out and face them and we'll see if you're brave.’ So out I went and hailed my suitor's father. They were sitting here, on this window seat.‘You may share our betel,’ I said, ‘but why you have come? Don't you know what's in a woman's heart?’ They were struck dumb. My uncle said: ‘Have you nothing in reply? Can't you answer a girl?’ After a long time they said, ‘We know she refuses us because of the other woman.