"She must, she must," he said. "There is no one else, and I will win her."
He returned to her presently and, drawing a chair near hers, sat down by her side.
"I suppose your Home of Rest is full," he said, with seeming carelessness.
"Yes," she said: "had it been twice as large it would have been filled. As for the golf links, they are always popular. You see, while it is foggy and miserable in London, it is perfect weather here. Just fancy, we are only in the middle of April, and yet we are sitting out of doors in perfect comfort. It's as warm as June."
"There is a mixed crew down there," said Briarfield, nodding in the direction of what he had called "the Home of Rest."
"Yes?"
"Yes. It is a good thing you are so cosmopolitan in your views. I dropped in there last night, and had a talk with a German and a Frenchman, while I saw, sitting in the smoking-room, an Arab of some sort. At any rate, he wore a fez."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. I did not speak to him, as he seemed in a rather unsociable mood; but the German told me he was a remarkable sort of character. It seems he has spent most of his life away in Africa, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Desert of Sahara, I think."
"What led him to come here?"