“Always, as far as I know. Each one reminds him of one of the ones before.” “Does Ziné remind him of any one in particular?” said she, looking at me sideways. “No, I’m afraid not. That’s the trouble, to my mind. He can only see Ziné now as Ziné, and not as, so to speak, ‘essence of girl’ in the abstract.” “Fancy talking of Ziné as something abstract! Harilek, I’m ashamed of you for even thinking such a thing.” “I didn’t. I only said Forsyth ought to.” “And why ought he to?” “Because he’s like the rest of us--mere wanderers--here to-day and gone to-morrow.” “Perhaps you won’t go. Perhaps your camels will die or something, and you’ll have to spend your lives here without any nice looking-glasses or that funny stuff that you smoke, and have to wear Sakae clothes for the rest of your lives.” “Then I should jolly well walk across the desert.” “That’s not polite, since I live here. You ought to say you would be very glad if something kept you here.” “I shouldn’t be glad if something kept me here. Things don’t make up life: people do. Possibly if some one kept me here it might be different.” Aryenis’s pony shied at nothing as far as I could see, and it took her a minute or two to get him under control again, by which time she seemed to have lost the thread, and got back to the question of the doctor. “I think that Forsyth would not mind much if the camels died, anyway. He wouldn’t suggest walking across the desert.” “No; I suppose he wouldn’t. But what makes you say that?” “Because I’ve got two good eyes and two good ears and a brain behind them.” “You have, Aryenis: remarkably nice ears and particularly nice eyes.” “That’s the first compliment I’ve had from you for over a week. What’s happening?” “Nothing. Only I’ve not seen so much of them of late. I suppose they strike one the more in consequence.” “Like your compliments.” “Do you like compliments?” “What woman doesn’t? Of course, I like compliments. That’s why I love going to see Paulos.” “Does he give you lots of them?” “No; but his old archer servant does.” I felt properly crushed at being referred to in the same breath with the chipped, old, weathered block of wood that had helped me so doubtfully with my new gear. I shifted the ground of debate. “And what have your eyes and ears told you that makes you think the doctor wouldn’t worry if the camels died?” “That he thinks Ziné matters much more than camels.” “And does Ziné think that he matters?” “She may. But then Ziné often considers that men are worth thinking about, which is very stupid, as I am always telling her.” “Then you don’t consider that they are worth worrying over?” “Not in the least. They’re useful sometimes when you want things done for you--that’s all. But as for wasting time and energy worrying about them as Ziné does, Heavens, no!” “Or tangling your thoughts over them?”