“If one’s heart were set on the things that fade, what greater satisfaction? Shadow, deep shadow from the heat, cool drafts, the voice of a fair woman.”
“You must not count me among the things that fade, though,” laughed Lena, as she handed him a tall glass of clinking fragrance. “I shan’t like you a bit if you do.”
“Everything fades, the rose, the lady, even thought, which is after all but a grub on the tree of truth. All, all fade.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way,” objected Lena. “You make me feel quite creepy.”
“Ah,” said Ram Juna, “you love the things of to-day. To me the thought that all is transitory is bliss. Is it not so?”
“Yes,” said Lena, “I’m sure I like roses and jewels and iced minty stuff to drink. And Ram Juna, I wish you would tell me the really-truly history of your ruby. I’ve heard so many stories about it.” He put up his hand, detached the great jewel from its place and laid it in her small outstretched palm.
“That is a mark of my confiding,” he said. “There are few to whom I would give to handle my treasure. It may truly be called a stone of blood. Such angry storms of greed and passion, such murders of father by son and husband by wife link their story to it. And now it rests at last on the head of a man of peace. For how long? For how long?” Lena looked at it with the eyes of fascination as it lay in her open hand.
“It charms you like a serpent?” asked her companion, leaning forward with indolent amusement. “You are true woman. You love the glitter. Would you like to see others?”
“Have you others?” cried Lena. “Oh—oh, I should like to see them!” He rose, made her a salaam of grace, parted the hedge once more and disappeared only to return bringing in his hands a curious box of carven ivory, which he set on the table between them and proceeded to unlock with a key of quaint device.
Lena gave a cry of rapture and astonishment as the lid fell back. Ram Juna laid his hand on her arm.