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"I'm so sorry."
"It's all right as long as you're getting rested. What is that instrument?"
"My moon-lute."
"Oh, is that what it's called?"
She nodded, touched the strings. He watched her exquisite hands.
"Shall I?" she inquired a little shyly.
"Go ahead. I'd like to hear it!"
"I haven't touched it in months--not since I was on the steamer." She sat up in her hammock and began to swing there; and played and sang while swinging in the flecked shadow of the orange bloom:
"_Little Isle of Cispangou, Isle of iris, isle of cherry, Tell your tiny maidens merry Clouds are looming over you!
La-[=e]-la!
La-[=e]-la!
All your ocean's but a ferry; s.h.i.+ps are bringing death to you!
La-[=e]-lou!
La-[=e]-lou!_
"_Little Isle of Cispangou, Half a thousand s.h.i.+ps are sailing; Captain Death commands each crew; Lo! the ruddy moon is paling!
La-[=e]-la!
La-[=e]-la!
Clouds the dying moon are veiling, Every cloud a shroud for you!
La-[=e]-lou!
La-[=e]-lou!_"
"Cispangou," she explained, "is the very, very ancient name, among the Mongols, for j.a.pan."
"It's not exactly a gay song," he said. "What's it about?"
"Oh, it's a very ancient song about the Mongol invasion of j.a.pan. I know scores and scores of such songs."
She sang some other songs. Afterward she descended from the hammock and came and sat down beside him on the veranda steps.
"I wish I could amuse you," she said wistfully.
"Why do you think I'm bored, Tressa? I'm not at all."
But she only sighed, lightly, and gathered her knees in both arms.
"I don't know how young men in the Western world are entertained," she remarked presently.
"You don't have to entertain me," he said, smiling.
"I should be happy to, if I knew how."
"How are young men entertained in the Orient?"
"Oh, they like songs and stories. But I don't think you do."
He laughed in spite of himself.
"Do you really wish to entertain me?"
"I do," she said seriously.
"Then please perform some of those tricks of magic which you can do so amazingly well."
Her dawning smile faded a trifle. "I don't--I haven't----" She hesitated.
"You haven't your professional paraphernalia with you," he suggested.
"Oh--as for that----"
"Don't you need it?"
"For some things--some kinds of things.... I _could_ do--other things----"
He waited. She seemed disconcerted. "Don't do anything you don't wish to do, Tressa," he said.
"I was only--only afraid--that if I should do some little things to amuse you, I might stir--stir up--interfere--encounter some sinister current--and betray myself--betray my whereabouts----"
"Well, for heaven's sake don't venture then!" he said with emphasis.
"Don't do anything to stir up any other wireless--any Yezidee----"
"I am wondering," she reflected, "just what I dare venture to do to amuse you."
"Don't bother about me. I wouldn't have you try any psychic stunt down here, and run the chance of stirring up some Asiatic devil somewhere!"
She nodded absently, occupied with her own thoughts, sitting there, chin on hand, her musing eyes intensely blue.
"I think I can amuse you," she concluded, "without bringing any harm to myself."
"Don't try it, Tressa!----"
"I'll be very careful. Now, sit quite still--closer to me, please."
He edged closer; and became conscious of an indefinable freshness in the air that enveloped him, like the scent of something young and growing.
But it was no magic odour,--merely the virginal scent of her hair and skin that even clung to her summer gown.
He heard her singing under her breath to herself:
"La-[=e]-la!
La-[=e]-la!"
