"Do you think you can stand seven days of it?" he said.
She leaned her head against him. "I want to catch every moment of them and hold it fast. How shall we make the time pass slowly?"
He smiled at the question. "Do you know, I was afraid this place wouldn't appeal to you?"
Her hand sought and closed upon his. "Ah, why not?" she said.
He did not answer her. Only, with his face bent down to hers, he said, "The past is past then?"
"For ever," she made swift reply. "But I have always loved Bhulwana—even in my sad times. Ah, listen! That is a koïl!"
They listened to the bird's flutelike piping, standing closely linked in the shadow of a little group of pines. In the bungalow behind them Peter the Great was decking the table for their wedding-feast. The scent of white roses was in the air, languorous, exquisite.
The blue jay laughed again in the acacia by the gate, laughed and flew away. "Good riddance!" said Monck.
"Don't you like him?" said Stella.
"I'm not particularly keen on being jeered at," he answered.