I swallowed it and handed her back the glass. “I feel all the better for that, too.” As I sat in the shade of the little stone summer-house within the Greek portico, she lingered in the blazing sunshine, a figure all glorious health and supple curves, and the stray brown hairs above the brown mass gleamed with the gold of a Giotto aureole. She stood, a duskily glowing, radiant emblem of life against the background of spring greenery and rioting convolvulus. I drew a full breath and looked at her as if magnetised. I had the very oddest sensation. She seemed, in Shakespearean phrase, to rain influence upon me. As if she read the stirrings of my blood, she smiled and said: “After all, confess, isn't it good to be alive?” A thrill of physical well-being swept through me. I leaped to my feet. “You witch!” I cried. “What are you doing to me?” “I?” She retreated a step, with a laugh. “Yes, you. You are casting a spell on me, so that I may eat my words.” “I don't know what you are talking about, but you haven't answered my question. It _is_ good to be alive.” “Well, it is,” I assented, losing all sense of consistency. She flourished the egg-and-brandy glass. “I'm so glad. Now I know you are really well, and will face life as you faced death, like the brave man that you are.” I cried to her to hold. I had not intended to go as far as that. I confronted death with a smile; I meet life with the wriest of wry faces. She would have none of my arguments. “No matter how damnable it is--it's splendid to be alive, just to feel that you can fight, just to feel that you don't care a damn for any old thing that can happen, because you're strong and brave. I do want you to get back all that you've lost, all that you've lost through me, and you'll do it. I know that you'll do it. You'll just go out and smash up the silly old world and bring it to your feet. You will, Simon, won't you? I know you will.” She quivered like an optimistic Cassandra. “My dear Lola,” said I. I was touched. I took her hand and raised it to my lips, whereat she flushed like a girl. “Did you come here to tell me all this?” “No,” she replied simply. “It came all of a sudden, as I was standing here. I've often wanted to say it. I'm glad I have.” She threw back her head and regarded me a moment with a strange, proud smile; then turned and walked slowly away, her head brushing the long scarlet clusters of the pepper trees. CHAPTER XVII