"Oh, Geoffrey," she whispered.
He sat down on a low table in front of a shuttered refreshment bar with Yaé on his knee, his strong arm round her, even as she had dreamed. The Buddha of Infinite Understanding smiled down upon them.
Geoffrey was too little of a prig to scold the girl, and too much of a man not to be touched and flattered by the sincerity of her embrace. He was too much of an Englishman to ascribe it to its real passionate motive, and to profit by the opportunity.
Instead, he told himself that she was only a child excited by the beauty and the romance of the night even as he was. He did not begin to realize that he or she were making love. So he took her on his knee and stroked her hand.
"Isn't he fine?" he said, looking up at the God.
She started at the sound of his voice, and put her arms round his neck again.
"Oh, Geoffrey," she murmured, "how strong you are!"
He stood up laughing, with the girl in his arms.
"If it wasn't for your big obi" he said, "you would weigh nothing at all. Now hold tight; for I am going to carry you home."
He started down the avenue with a swinging stride. Yaé could watch almost within range of her lips the powerful profile of his big face, a soldier's face trained to command strong men and to be gentle to women and children. There was a delicious fragrance about him, the dry heathery smell of clean men. He did not look down at her. He was staring into the black shadows ahead, his mind still full of that sudden vision of Buddha Amitabha. He was scarcely thinking of the half-caste girl who clung tightly to his neck.