“Do what I tell you,” he commanded, pointing to the sheepskin; and, being indeed sleepy, she obeyed without further argument.
“Comfy?” he asked, as she lay down.
“Gorgeous,” she answered drowsily, and shut her eyes. When she opened them again a few moments later he had already left the tent; and, with a sigh of supreme happiness, she settled herself down to her repose.
Half an hour later Daniel looked into the tent and found her fast asleep. She was lying upon her back with her legs crossed, and one arm behind her head; and frankly he admitted to himself that she made a most delightful picture.
He went away again, and busied himself for half an hour in changing his clothes and having something of a wash. He routed out quite a respectable suit of grey flannels, and a white stock for his neck; and thus arrayed, he returned to the sleeper.
She lay now upon her side, her cheek resting on her two hands, her knees drawn up; and he confessed to himself that she looked adorable. He did not take his eyes from her for a full minute.
He went out for a walk, and surveyed with satisfaction the position which he had chosen for his camp; and it was half past three when he returned once more to Muriel.
This time she was lying on her back, with one knee raised, one arm across her breast, and the other flung out upon the floor. He sat himself down in the entrance of the tent, and lit his pipe. He did not look at her; for suddenly some door in his heart had opened, revealing a vista of thought which was new to him. The girl upon the sheepskin was no longer merely a charming picture: she was a woman sleeping in his tent after her labours in the camp. She was his companion, his mate, tired out with helping him. She was Eve, and he was Adam: and lo!—the desert was become the Garden of Paradise.
He got up from his chair with a start, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. His thoughts were riotous, mutinous, foolish: he had no business to think of her like that. He knew nothing about her—nothing, except that she did not belong truly to his system of life. Her little show of vigorous, outdoor activity was a pretence on her part, a mere experiment, a new experience filling an idle day. She was not a child of the open desert: she was a daughter of that busy, dressed up, painted old harlot, the World. Presently she would go back to her stuffy rooms and trim gardens, her dinner-parties and balls, her diamonds and frocks and frills, her conventions and mockeries of life.
