“What are you reading now?” he asked, glancing at the volume that lay in her lap. “It’s a Browning. I carry it about a good deal. I think I like to have it with me, but I don’t seem to read it much.” “Are you waiting for a suitable optimistic moment?” Broomhurst inquired, smiling. “Yes, now that you mention it, I think that must be why I am waiting,” she replied, slowly. “And it doesn’t come--even in the Garden of Eden? Surely the serpent, pessimism, hasn’t been insolent enough to draw you into conversation with him?” he said, lightly. “There has been no one to converse with at all--when John is away, I mean. I think I should have liked a little chat with the serpent immensely by way of a change,” she replied, in the same tone. “Ah, yes,” Broomhurst said, with sudden seriousness; “it must be unbearably dull for you alone here, with Drayton away all day.” Mrs. Drayton’s hand shook a little as she fluttered a page of her open book. “I should think it quite natural you would be irritated beyond endurance to hear that all’s right with the world, for instance, when you were sighing for the long day to pass,” he continued. “I don’t mind the day so much; it’s the evenings.” She abruptly checked the swift words, and flushed painfully. “I mean--I’ve grown stupidly nervous, I think--even when John is here. Oh, you have no idea of the awful _silence_ of this place at night,” she added, rising hurriedly from her low seat, and moving closer to the doorway. “It is so close, isn’t it?” she said, almost apologetically. There was silence for quite a minute. Broomhurst’s quick eyes noted the silent momentary clinching of the hands that hung at her side, as she stood leaning against the support at the entrance. “But how stupid of me to give you such a bad impression of the camp--the first evening, too!” Mrs. Drayton exclaimed, presently; and her companion mentally commended the admirable composure of her voice. “Probably you will never notice that it _is_ lonely at all,” she continued; “John likes it here. He is immensely interested in his work, you know. I hope _you_ are too. If you are interested it is all quite right. I think the climate tries me a little. I never used to be stupid--and nervous. Ah, here’s John; he’s been round to the kitchen tent, I suppose.” “Been looking after that fellow cleanin’ my gun, my dear,” John explained, shambling toward the deck-chair. Later Broomhurst stood at his own tent door. He looked up at the star-sown sky, and the heavy silence seemed to press upon him like an actual, physical burden. He took his cigar from between his lips presently, and looked at the glowing end reflectively before throwing it away. “Considering that she has been alone with him here for six months, she has herself very well in hand--_very_ well in hand,” he repeated.