“Of course not; you’re different, you don’t seem to belong abroad at all.” She turned her head slightly and looked at him.
“In spite of your laziness, you are always in earnest, you see, Giles; you can’t help being English all through.”
“Ah!” said Giles, with a very faint smile, “it’s nice to know one’s always in earnest, isn’t it, Shika?” And he stooped, and stroked the greyhound’s nose.
“And you,” he said, “what about you, Jocelyn?” She moved her supple body impatiently, and the look of defeat, which was never far away, came into her face.
“I am sometimes in earnest,” she said slowly, “and sometimes not; it’s always ‘sometimes’ with me, you know—I drift and drift.” A brown lizard darted across the top of the wall almost under her fingers. Her eyes shone softly.
“Sweet little beast!” she said. “I wish I were a lizard, Giles; just to be in the sun all day, and bask, and never have anything to worry one, or to fight against.” Giles, with his hands in his pockets, and his chin thrust forward, was looking at her hungrily.
“You would make a very decent little lizard, you are so quick,” he said between his teeth, “rather too nice-looking, perhaps.” He had to say something ridiculous to hide the tenderness that came into his voice. Jocelyn smiled; when she smiled her face was wonderfully soft, and the tiny dimples always came to the corners of her mouth; then she sighed.
“Oh dear! it must be nearly time to go. I would much rather stay with you, Shika,” and the greyhound, who seemed to understand, licked her hand amicably with a wet tongue.
“Irma would like to see you—will you go to her for a minute?” Giles brought out the words with difficulty.
“Of course I will.” She moved quickly across the terrace to the window. Giles, still leaning against the wall, followed her with his eyes.