When the tea and cakes were gone, they sat for a time in silence, just resting and admiring the scene that lay beneath their feet.
“This is one time when I wish I could paint pictures,” Mary murmured at last.
“The charm of our little world here is its contrast,” said the host, pleased by her words. “Without the brown hills beyond, our gardens would not seem half as beautiful.”
Once again there was silence for a time. And then came the slaves bringing rice cooked with meat, a roast of mutton, bread, cheese, fruit and light, red wine.
“Ah! a feast!” the Colonel exclaimed.
“We have very little here in the hills,” his host apologized in true Eastern fashion.
“It is wonderful,” said Mary, “and more wonderful still to have time for enjoying it. Tomorrow, we shall be rushing through the air once more.”
“When there is a feast one forgets tomorrow,” said their host.
