"Surely you would like to know how I came here," she announced. "Why not inquire?"
"I was instructed to ask no questions," he reminded.
She nodded that queer little nod of hers.
"You obey well—when you wish to. But we have no time now to talk of the past; suffice to say I come and go like the wind, when and where I will, and depending upon no man."
She settled deeper among the cushions and watched him—watched him half-humorously, as though he belonged to her and she was undecided what to do with him next. He realized she was waiting for him to speak, that she wanted to find out what he had learned since their meeting at Benares. Therefore he resolved to keep silent, not that what he knew was of any significance, but because uncertainty on her part was his best weapon. So he drew into his shell and waited. When she could no longer endure it, she said:
"Now that you are here, have you no thought of what you are to do?"
"There's a platitude about anticipation," was his reply. "Preconceived ideas never are correct."
"You, of course, suspected Myitkyina was not the end of your journey?"
"Then it isn't?"
He could not see her eyes, but he knew she was looking at him closely.