"If the Effendi will graciously consent, it would be wiser to remain here for one hour more," Hassan said. "The men are tired, also."
Michael assented. If the beasts and the men were tired, they would wait.
The excuse was not unwelcome. The good meal had relaxed his energies.
Hassan thanked him and silently disappeared.
Michael sipped his coffee; it was perfect. He lit a cigarette, after they had turned their chairs to the open front of the shelter. Presently Millicent slipped down from her chair and sat on the sand in front of the tent; there was more air. Soon Michael did the same.
They had lunched well and were friends. A certain delicious apathy stole over Michael, which kept him from referring to any unpleasant topics. He left alone the subject as to why Millicent had trapped him and forced her company upon him. For the time being she was good and gentle, the reason being that she also was relaxed and inert—the result of a good meal after a strenuous morning on camel-back.
Michael had been riding since dawn. The temptation to let things alone was an unconscious one; he submitted to it.
A great expanse of the desert was before them. Millicent lay curled up, like a golden tortoise-shell cat, in the sun; Michael, with his legs doubled up to his chin, rested his head on his knees. He would have been asleep in a few minutes if Millicent had not spoken; suddenly she said:
"Look! Surely that's my holy man, whose reasoning powers are in heaven?
There, look—far away, over there!"
Michael raised himself and looked to where she pointed. There was nothing to indicate any particular spot in the stretch of sand before them.
"I can just see the tattered rags of his staff. I'm sure it's the same man. Can't you see him?"
Michael looked again. "I can only distinguish something moving in the distance. I can't say what it is, or if it is coming this way."