Well then.

Athessa trades places with him, adjusting the shells somewhat idly. It looks idle, anyway; mostly she's feeling the weight of them and figuring out how she wants to shuffle them. After a moment of assessment, she nods and clears her throat.

"A catch in four parts," she begins, counting each: shell, shell, shell, pebble. It's an imperfect parallel but that's not the point; if she has to hide a pebble without sleeves, she has to do something other than shuffle to distract. So, moving the shells in time with the song and making sure to look up from the makeshift table every now and then to glint at By, she sings:

"Come, lay by your cares, and hang up your sorrow ; Drink on, he's a sot that e'er thinks on to-morrow ; Good store of good claret supplies everything, And the man that is drunk is as great as a king.

"Let none at misfortune or losses repine,
But take a full dose of the juice of the vine ;
Diseases and troubles are ne'er to be found,
But in the damned place where the glass goes not round."

The song and shells come to rest and Athessa gestures for Byerly to choose.