"Srinagar. That's about twenty days' march from Gilgit. I could do it in ten, to get to you!" he added, smiling. "Spare time would be scarce, though; and in the winter we should be quite cut off by snow."
"Oh, Eldred!"
"I should hate that no less than you, be sure. But when things got a bit more settled, some sort of arrangement might be possible, at least for part of the summer; if you could really stand the isolation and the life."
"Stand it? Of course I could. I should love it."
His eyes lit up.
"You have pluck enough for half a dozen! But you don't look as strong as you did. There's a fragile air about you that troubles me. I never saw it before."
The faint colour in her cheeks invaded her temples. It was the given moment; long enough delayed in all conscience. Yet it found her palpitating—unprepared.
"You mustn't be troubled." She plunged desperately; unsure of what would come next. "It will pass. I am growing stronger every day."
"Stronger? Good Lord! You haven't been ill too, and I never knew it?"
"No—oh, no! Not ill—that is . . . not exactly. I mean . . ."