“Aryenis!” I gasped, rather foolishly.
“Yes, Harilek. Aryenis in person, as you see.” She came forward. “I thought I should like to win some more bets, and, since one-legged Harilek couldn’t come to Miletis, two-legged Aryenis had to come here.” Then her laughing note changed as she held out both her hands. “Are you badly hurt, Harilek?”—the laughing note came back—“or is it only another wiggly mark?”
She stood holding my hands, looking down at me, all the red-gold glory of her hair aflame in the firelight which played across her beautiful face, now lighting up the wonderful clear depths of her big hazel-grey eyes, now casting tender little shadows about the witching curves of her dear lips. Then, without waiting for an answer, she went on:
“Forsyth said you’d be in bed at least a fortnight, so I told Paulos that Ziné and I would come and stop with him, for a womanless house is no place for a wounded man. And the doctor fetched us to-day.”
“And never told me why he was going to Miletis!”
“You didn’t tell me—us—when you were coming here,” retorted my lady, loosing her hands to take off her big coat. “Besides, surprises are always the nicest things, aren’t they? Much better than the things you’ve been looking forward to, which sometimes don’t turn out as nice as you’ve imagined them.”
She pulled up a chair and sat down, only to get up again to rearrange the flowers on my little table.
“What helpless creatures men are! You’ve got the best violets out of my pet bed, and the poor little things are all squashed up anyhow.” Then she turned on me.
“You’re very tongue-tied, Harilek. You haven’t even said you’re pleased to see me, and you’ve not had a glimpse of me for over a fortnight.”
“What’s the good of saying things, Aryenis? You know—or you ought to—how more than glad I am to see you. Why, every day—” I broke off, remembering Andros.