"I work with the Hive," Melissa answered briefly.

"It's the same thing. We and the Hive are one."

"Then why are your feelers different from ours? Don't cuddle so."

"Don't be provincial, Carissima. You can't have all the world
alike--yet."

"But why do you lay eggs?" Melissa insisted. "You lay 'em like a
Queen--only you drop them in patches all over the place. I've
watched you."

"Ah, Brighteyes, so you've pierced my little subterfuge? Yes,
they are eggs. By and by they'll spread our principles. Aren't
you glad?"

"You gave me your most solemn word of honour that they were not
eggs."

"That was my little subterfuge, dearest--for the sake of the
Cause. Now I must reach the young." The Wax-moth tripped towards
the fourth brood-frame where the young bees were busy feeding the
babies.

It takes some time for a sound bee to realize a malignant and
continuous lie. "She's very sweet and feathery," was all that
Melissa thought, "but her talk sounds like ivy honey tastes. I'd
better get to my field-work again."