And as these thoughts came back into his mind, Amanda flickered up from below, light and noiseless as a sunbeam, and stood behind his chair.

Freedom and the sight of the world had if possible brightened and invigorated her.  Her costume and bearing were subtly touched by the romance of the Adriatic.  There was a flavour of the pirate in the cloak about her shoulders and the light knitted cap of scarlet she had stuck upon her head.  She surveyed his preoccupation for a moment, glanced forward, and then covered his eyes with her hands.  In almost the same movement she had bent down and nipped the tip of his ear between her teeth.

“Confound you, Amanda!”

“You’d forgotten my existence, you star-gazing Cheetah.  And then, you see, these things happen to you!”

“I was thinking.”

“Well—­don’t. . . .  I distrust your thinking.  This coast is wilder and grimmer than yesterday.  It’s glorious. . . .”

She sat down on the chair he unfolded for her.

“Is there nothing to eat?” she asked abruptly.

“It is too early.”

2

“This coast is magnificent,” she said presently.

“It’s hideous,” he answered.  “It’s as ugly as a heap of slag.”

“It’s nature at its wildest.”

“That’s Amanda at her wildest.”

“Well, isn’t it?”

“No!  This land isn’t nature.  It’s waste.  Not wilderness.  It’s the other end.  Those hills were covered with forests; this was a busy civilized coast just a little thousand years ago.  The Venetians wasted it.  They cut down the forests; they filled the cities with a mixed mud of population, that stuff.  Look at it"!—­he indicated the sleepers forward by a movement of his head.

“I suppose they were rather feeble people,” said Amanda.

“Who?”

“The Venetians.”

“They were traders—­and nothing more.  Just as we are.  And when they were rich they got splendid clothes and feasted and rested.  Much as we do.”

Amanda surveyed him.  “We don’t rest.”

“We idle.”

“We are seeing things.”

“Don’t be a humbug, Amanda.  We are making love.  Just as they did.  And it has been—­ripping.  In Salona they made love tremendously.  They did nothing else until the barbarians came over the mountains. . . .”

“Well,” said Amanda virtuously, “we will do something else.”

He made no answer and her expression became profoundly thoughtful.  Of course this wandering must end.  He had been growing impatient for some time.  But it was difficult, she perceived, to decide just what to do with him. . . .

Benham picked up the thread of his musing.