His sympathy and comprehension had won her over. He was big and kind and brotherly. Somehow she felt that her mother would have liked him, accepting him without question as one of her own caste, and would have smiled on him as High Priest in charge of the Household Gods. She reflected for a while, then, meeting his eyes:
“You can have the house, Major Olifant,” she said seriously.
He bowed. “I’m sure you will not regret it,” said he. “I ought to remind you, however,” he added after a pause, “that I may have a stable companion for a few months. The distinguished fellow I mentioned. I wonder whether you’ve heard of Alexis Triona.”
“The man who wrote Through Blood and Snow?”
“Have you read it?”
“Of course I have,” cried Olivia. “What do you think I do here all day? Twiddle my thumbs or tell my fortune by cards?”
“I hope you think it’s a great book,” he said, with a smile.
“An amazing book. And you’re going to bring him to live here? What’s he like?”
“It would take days to tell you.”
“Well, compress it into a sort of emergency ration,” said Olivia.