“The camels were swaying along with huge bales of goods, and dark beautiful women in wicker cages perched on them. Silks and carpets from Bokhara, and blue—eyed Persian cats, and bluer Persian turquoises. Wonderful! And the dust, gilded by the sunshine, makes a vaporous golden atmosphere for it all.”
“What was the most wonderful thing you saw there?”
“The most beautiful, I think, was a man—a splendid dark ruffian lounging along. He wanted to show off, and his swagger was perfect. Long black onyx eyes and a tumble of black curls, and teeth like almonds. But what do you think he carried on his wrist—a hawk with fierce yellow eyes, ringed and chained. Hawking is a favourite sport in the hills. Oh, why doesn’t some great painter come and paint it all before they take to trains and cars? I long to see it all again, but I never shall.”
“Why not,” said I. “Surely Sir John can get you up there any day?”
“Not now. The fighting makes it difficult. But it isn’t that. I am leaving.”
“Leaving?” My heart gave a leap. “Why? Where?”
“Leaving Lady Meryon.”
“Why—for Heaven’s sake?”
“I had rather not tell you.”
“But I must know.”