There was a creeping sound of something that was almost impish in his voice.
“Are you a secret agent?” Domini asked him.
“Of whom, Madame?”
She was silent. She seemed to be considering. He watched her with curiosity in his bright eyes.
“Of the desert,” she answered at length, quite seriously.
“A secret agent has always a definite object. What is mine?”
“How can I know? How can I tell what the desert desires?”
“Already you personify it!”
The network of wrinkles showed itself in his brown face as he smiled, surely with triumph.
“I think I did that from the first,” she answered gravely. “I know I did.”