We can choose
the poorest. We can improve their lives. After all, if we owe a debt to
anyone it is to them, to the desert. Let us pay our debt to the desert
men and live in the desert."
"It would be an ideal life," she said with her eyes shining on his.
"And a possible life. Let us live it. I could not bear to leave the
desert. Where should we go?"
"Where should we go!" she repeated.
She was still looking at him, but now the expression of her eyes had
quite changed. They had become grave, and examined him seriously with a
sort of deep inquiry. He sat upon the Arab rug, leaning his back against
the wall of the traveller's house.
"Why do you look at me like that, Domini?" he asked with a sudden
stirring of something that was like uneasiness.
"I! I was wondering what you would like, what other life would suit
you."
"Yes?" he said quickly. "Yes?"
"It's very strange, Boris, but I cannot connect you with anything but
the desert, or see you anywhere but in the desert. I cannot even imagine
you among your vines in Tunisia."
"They were not altogether mine," he corrected, still with a certain
excitement which he evidently endeavoured to repress.
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