Now, as they sat in the sunset hour, watching the light fall over the desert, Regina's thoughts swept back over all the days and nights of that glorious, golden month, and she felt almost afraid of the perfection of her happiness.
"That man is late with the post," remarked Everest, looking at his watch. "Didn't we send him ashore at six?"
"I'm not in a hurry for letters," answered Regina. "Nothing could make me more happy than I am, anything might make me less!"
Everest laughed, and continued a little sketch of a lonely palm he was making in his note-book, and just then the Arab messenger, with the mail bag, came on to the verandah and saluted them.
There was an immense number of letters as usual for Everest. He opened most of them with indifference, read and laid them down, without comment.
There were a few for Regina, which she left on the table, unopened. She did not wish to miss the transient glory of the sunset. And, as she said, there was nothing, nothing, nothing, that she wanted in this world.
"What a confounded bore!" exclaimed Everest suddenly over a letter. "Sybil and her brother are coming out, and want to join our camp.... Isn't that tiresome?"
Regina went suddenly cold in the warm and roseate air.
"Oh, Everest, I am sorry!"