“In truth, Princess, ’tis easy to see that you are the daughter of the High Treasurer,” broke in Roger suddenly. Nur Mahal’s tense expression relaxed for an instant; nevertheless, Walter, vexed that he should be forced into a settlement exceedingly repulsive to his feelings, asked gloomily:—
“What other of the Emperor’s requests do you carry out?”
“I go back to the Garden of Heart’s Delight. You spoke just now of fortunate names. Is it not happily entitled?”
The quiet scorn of the question revealed to him an utter hopelessness which was so greatly at variance with her confident mien during their flight that not even the scene which took place in the field of millet served to explain it wholly to his puzzled brain. In the presence of the rabbit-eared Chief Eunuch it was not advisable to say too much, but he could not forbear a comment.
“I have heard you describe a woman’s mind as a lake,” he said. “Will you forgive me if I liken it to a whirlpool, in which thoughts flowing in one direction at one moment, fly in the opposite way the next.”
She laughed lightly, though the joy had gone from her mirth.
“You still would have me go to Burdwán?” she cried.
“Yes; and I care not who hears.”
“Nor do I, for the Emperor bids me return, and I am dutiful. Who could deny the wish of so benignant a prince?”
“Burdwán without a husband is not to your liking, perchance. It would be dry meat, anyhow, as the fellow said after coursing a hare and losing it,” said Roger, who, for a cause best known to himself, attempted to deprive the undercurrent of their speech of its vinegar.