A silence prevailed.
At last he said: "I think it would be a gentle and kind thing to do, to come and sit near me on the grass. I would like to look at you closely and see if you are a moonbeam I used to know long ago in Rhodesia."
"I have never been in Rhodesia."
"No? Then perhaps it was in my own land. The women there have voices like you.
"There be none of beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee,
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me—"
Poppy heard the rustle of leaves again through Byron's beautiful words, and a little shiver of happiness flew through her. She hoped he would sit there for ever, beguiling her with his sweet Irish tongue.
"Tell me that you came from Ireland and I'll believe you with all my heart," said he next.
"No; I was born out here."
"In this bad, mad land?" His voice had a note of disappointment in it; he added: "I wish you were mad and bad—but that is too much to expect, I suppose?"
"Why do you wish it?"