Hawksworth heard a sudden rustling behind him and then a sound. He turned and searched the gloom, where two eyes peered out of the darkness, reflecting the lamplight. He was reaching for his pistol when she stopped his arm. "That's one of the little green parrots who live here. They've never been harmed, and they've never been caged. So they're unafraid." She turned and called to it. "If they're caught and imprisoned, their spirit dies and their beauty starts to fade." The bird ruffled its wings again and flew to the top of the bolster beside Shirin. Hawksworth watched her for a moment, still incredulous, then settled himself on the carpet next to a chalice of wine that sat waiting. She reached and touched his arm. "I never asked you what your lovers call you. You're so important, nobody in India knows your first name, just your titles." "My only other name is Brian." He found her touch had already begun to stir him. "Brian. Will you tell me everything about you, what you like and what you don't?" She began to pour the wine for them. "Did I ever tell you what I like most about you?" "In Surat you said you liked the fact I was a European. Who always had to be master of worldly things." "Well, I've thought about you a lot since then." Her expression grew pensive. "I've decided it's not so simple. There's a directness about you, and an openness, an honesty, that's very appealing." "That's European. We're not very good at intrigue. What we're thinking always shows on our face." She laughed. "And I think I know what you're thinking right now. But let me finish. I feel I must tell you this. There's something else about you that may also be European, but think it's just your special quality. You're always ready to watch and learn from what you see. Looking for new things and new ideas. Is that also European?" "I think it probably is." "It's rare here. Most Indians think everything they have and everything they do is absolutely perfect, exactly the way it is. They might take something foreign and use it, or copy it but they always have to appear disdainful of anything not Indian." "You're right. I'm always being told everything here is better." He reached for her. "Sometimes it's even true." "Won't you let me tell you the rest?" She took his hand and held it. "I also think you have more concern for those around you than most Indians do. You respect the dignity of others, regardless of their station, something you'll seldom see here, particularly among the high castes. And there's a kindness about you too. I feel it when you're with me." She laughed again. "You know, it's a tragic thing about Muslim men. They claim to honor women; they write poems to their beauty; but I don't think they could ever truly love a woman. They believe she's a willful thing whom it's their duty to contain."