"And is he happy?" he asked quickly. She was silent, and he made a little gesture of apology. "I'm sorry—I'm like all lonely men—I've grown preachy and prosy. I've tired you——"
But she turned to him, her head high, her eyes brilliant with a suddenly revealed feeling.
"Why should you apologize? I also have my theories of life and death. Yes—to die splendidly—on the mountain top, in a palace of gold and silver, in the full tide of youth and strength, of one's own free-will, not knowing decay or suffering—to look back on a life without ugliness, without poverty or meanness—that is the goal—that is happiness."
"That is your vision," he said, smiling at her wistfully. "But you are fire and air, and I am heavy earth."
She got up and went to the steps of the verandah, and stood there with her back turned to him.
"Oh, your vision of me, Major Tristram—beware of it. Why do you make an idol of me?"
But he did not answer.
Ayeshi came out of the shadow of the trees, leading the grotesque Arabella and his own sturdy pony. Tristram half rose.
"No!" she said imperatively. "You have made me tired and wretched and angry. You, a physician! You have got to cure me before you go."
"What shall I do?" he asked humbly.