"Oh, are we going to stop for tea?" said Dinah.
"That's the idea," said Scott. "And then back by another way. We ought to get a good view of the sunset. I hope it won't be misty, but they say a change is coming."
"I hope it won't come yet," said Dinah fervently. "The last few days have been so perfect. And there is so little time left."
Scott smiled. "That is the worst of perfection," he said. "It never lasts."
Dinah's eyes were wistful. "It will go on being perfect here long after we have left," she said. "Isn't it dreadful to think of all the good things—all the beauty—one misses just because one isn't there?"
"It would be if there were nothing else to think of," said Scott. "But there is beauty everywhere—if we know how to look for it."
She looked at him uncertainly. "I never knew what it meant before I came here," she told him shyly. "There is no time for beautiful things in my life. It's very, very drab and ugly. And I am very discontented. I have never been anything else."
Her voice quivered a little as she made the confession. Scott's eyes were so kind, so full of friendly understanding. Isabel had dropped out of their intercourse as completely as though her presence had been withdrawn. She lay back against her cushions, but her eyes were still watching, watching incessantly.
"I think the very dullest life can be made beautiful," Scott said, after a moment. "Even the desert sand is gold when the sun shines on it. The trouble is,—" he laughed a little—"to get the sun to shine."
Dinah leaned forward eagerly, confidentially. "Yes?" she questioned.