When he had gone, Alicia sat with her head against my knees. Of late a touching gravity, a sweet seriousness, had settled upon her. Her love for the big doctor was singularly clear-eyed and far-seeing. There were going to be times when every ounce of skill, tact, patience, love itself, would be called upon, for the reins must be gossamer-light, invisible, but always firm and sure, that should guide and tone down so impatient and fiery a nature as his. It was very 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 probability you would have accepted him, had I not been here to--blunder into the affair."