"Then you are happy. I have brought some solace and light into your days, Eleanor? If I died to-morrow, or was lost from sight, you would look back and say: 'He gave me my dearest hours, my most treasured memories. He brought me from the slough of despond to the sunshine of the east.'"
"Yes," she murmurs, quoting her favourite song:
"If you've heard the East a-callin',
You won't never 'eed naught else."
She snatches up her guitar with the light laugh of a girl.
"No, you won't 'eed nothin' else, but them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees, an' the tinkly temple bells."
"Come out for a ride," says Carol, "now it is cooler."
Eleanor's face brightens, her eyes glow. He goes so frequently alone, never even telling her the direction he has taken, and answering shortly when questioned. His suggestion meets with her highest approval.
"We will go by the jungle," she says. "You know my favourite road; not past Elizabeth's hut, since her doors will be closed to me henceforth. I shall miss her friendship when I am alone, but you must not leave me so often now, and we will ask that nice Major Short and Captain Stevenson to come and see us again."
"So you are fond of society still," says Quinton smiling, "though you denied it just now."
"Two congenial spirits are not 'society,'" she replies, "That word comprises people in a bulk. But here are the horses. Doesn't Braye du Valle look splendid? I hope if I died you would let him drag me to my grave."