He's a good-natured,
lazy fellow of a volcano."
"I saw a mountain smoking like that before," she said, staring at the
slender stem of a tree-fern some dozen feet in front of her. "It wasn't
very long after we left England--some few days, though. I was so ill at
first that I lost count of days. A smoking mountain--I can't think how
they called it."
"Vesuvius, perhaps," suggested Heyst.
"That's the name."
"I saw it, too, years, ages ago," said Heyst.
"On your way here?"
"No, long before I ever thought of coming into this part of the world. I
was yet a boy."
She turned and looked at him attentively, as if seeking to discover some
trace of that boyhood in the mature face of the man with the hair
thin at the top and the long, thick moustaches. Heyst stood the frank
examination with a playful smile, hiding the profound effect these
veiled grey eyes produced--whether on his heart or on his nerves,
whether sensuous or spiritual, tender or irritating, he was unable to
say.
"Well, princess of Samburan," he said at last, "have I found favour in
your sight?"
She seemed to wake up, and shook her head.
"I was thinking," she murmured very low.
"Thought, action--so many snares! If you begin to think you will be
unhappy."
"I wasn't thinking of myself!" she declared with a simplicity which took
Heyst aback somewhat.
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