"No—but I know all about him—he plays polo and is in the Zingari."
"He does other things—he will even do more—I shall be curious to hear what you think of him. For me he is the type of your best in England. We were at Oxford together; we dreamed dreams there—and perhaps time will realise some of them. Denzil is a beautiful Englishman, but he is not a fool."
A sudden illumination seemed to come into Amaryllis' brain; she felt how limited had been all her thoughts and standpoints in life. She had been willing to drift on without speculation as to the goal to be reached. Indeed, even now, had she any definite goal? She looked at the Russian's strong, rugged face, his inscrutable eyes narrowed and gazing ahead—of what was he thinking? Not stupid, ordinary things—that was certain.
"It is the second evening, amidst the most unlikely surroundings, that you have made me speculate about subjects which never troubled me before. Then you leave me unsatisfied—I want to know—definitely to know!"
"Searcher after wisdom!" and he smiled. "No one can teach another very much. Enlightenment must come from within; we have reached a better stage when we realise that we are units in some vast scheme and responsible for its working, and not only atoms floating hither and thither by chance. Most people have the brains of grasshoppers; they spring from subject to subject, their thoughts are never under control. Their thoughts rule them—it is not they who rule their thoughts."
They were seated comfortably on their sofa, and Verisschenzko leaning forward from his corner, looked straight into her eyes.
"You control your thoughts?" she asked. "Can you really only let them wander where you choose?"
"They very seldom escape me, but I consciously allow them indulgences."
"Such as?"
"Visions—day dreams—which I know ought not to materialise."