A picture of Consuello as she appeared when she stood beside the window with its red geraniums, reciting the verse in which she found heart comfort, flashed into John's mind. He closed his eyes to hold the vision in his imagination. It faded away, and another picture took its place, a mental miniature of Consuello as he had last seen her, standing in the doorway, silhouetted in the soft rose light behind her. He saw her hand flutter and the door close. Could it be that with the intuition of a daughter of Eve she knew that he loved her? Could it be that she——
"Brennan," he said, "what is that verse of Kipling's that starts 'So long as 'neath the hills' or something like that?"
In the tiny glow of Brennan's cigarette John noticed a hint of a smile on the other's lips as he recited:
"So long as 'neath the Kalka hills
The Tonga-horn shall ring,
So long as down the Solon dip
The hard-held ponies swing,
So long as Tara Divi sees
The lights of Simla town,
So long as Pleasure calls us up,