ry easy to love him; it wasn't always going to be easy to live
with him, and Alicia knew it. But she also knew, with a faith beyond
all failing, that this was her high, destined, heaven-ordained job.

"Sophy darlin', I'm deplorably young, am I not?" she sighed.

"You'll get over it."

"Do you think I'll make him a good wife, Sophy?"

"I am absolutely certain," I said, "that you'll make him a good
husband. Which is far more important."

Alicia hugged my knees, and laughed. Then, seeing Mr. Nicholas
Jelnik approaching, she scrambled to her feet, picked up the tray of
empty dishes, and went back to the house.

Neither she nor the doctor had asked me so much as one question
about Mr. Jelnik. As if by tacit understanding that subject was
avoided. And because I hadn't anything to tell them, I, too, held my
peace.

He raised my hand to his lips, dropped into a chair, and bared his
forehead to the soft wind.

"How good that feels!" he sighed. "Fraeulein, may one smoke?" And
receiving permission he smoked for a while, comfortably, leaning
back with half-closed eyes.

"Achmet salaams to you, _hanoum_," he said presently. "You have won
his heart of a true believer. Even Daoud demands daily news of you."

"I particularly like The Jinnee. I should like to have him around
me. And Daoud is highly ornamental."

"When is The Author coming back? Or is he coming back?" he asked
abruptly.

"Oh, yes. He will be here for the wedding. So will Miss Emmeline."

After a long pause, and with an evident effort:

"I have been thinking," he said, "that perhaps it was unfortunate I
came between you and The Author. Perhaps," he added deliberately,
"it would have been better had you let your common sense gain the
day."

I don't know why, but just at that moment the dear and haunting
dream of having been lifted out of deep waters and kissed back to
life, cradled in this man's arms, came to me with peculiar
poignancy. Of a sudden I laughed aloud.

"Oh, I'm just remembering a dream I had, when I was ill," I told
him, in answer to his look of surprise.

"It must have been a very amusing dream," said he, staring at me
thoughtfully.

"Oh, very! Quite absurd. But go on. You were by way of advising me
to marry The Author, were you not?"

His hands on the arms of the wicker chair clenched. He half rose,
thought better of it, and sank back.

"I was saying that it might have been better for you," he said,
breathing quickly. "In all pro