een
in my line. As a matter of fact, I was thinking just then what
unaccountable creatures we men and women are! How we ponder, and
debate, and fuss over trifles, and then plunge headlong past the big
turning-points of life, without a thought of the consequences lurking
round the corner. Which doesn't mean that you and I need spell our
consequences with a capital C, or label them tragic in advance," she
added with a laugh. "For honestly, it seems to me that a rising
artist, and a rising explorer, both devout worshippers of the eternal
hills, may reasonably expect to possess many ideas and interests in
common: and those are the bricks out of which two people build their
House of Happiness, _n'est-ce pas, mon ami_?"

"Yes; if you choose to leave mutual trust, and mutual devotion, out on
the doorstep."

"I don't choose: only, they are not the bricks, Eldred. One is the
foundation-stone; and the other,--the other is a great mysterious
Something, that transforms the House into an enchanted palace. But we
must be content to begin with the House,--do you see?"

"Yes--I see. I am abundantly content to begin on any terms."

Something in the man's tone impelled her to lean outward a little, so
that her shoulder rested lightly against the arm passed behind her.

"You are much too good to me, dear," she said softly. "I don't think
one could possibly live with you and fail to love you. That is why I
have dared to take the risk."

He did not answer in words, nor did he give her the kiss she half
expected; but his hand deserted the crupper, and the mule pricked a
velvet ear at the check in his progress. Then Quita straightened
herself, as if reasserting her cherished independence.

"After all, it is more interesting, in some ways, not to have
everything cut and dried from the start," she went on, striking off at
a tangent, with an innate perversity incomprehensible to a mere man.
"It prevents a headlong fall into the commonplace: and there is a
certain excitement in looking on, so to speak, at one's own personal
drama, without feeling quite sure of its developments."

Lenox knitted his brows. He could not always keep pace with her more
fantastic moods.

"Quita, are you talking nonsense?" he asked with a touch of irritation.

"No."

"Well, I wish you were. I don't like that sort of attitude towards
serious things; and I don't understand what you mean about looking on
at one's own life. It sounds brutally deta