As she listened, she fancied that she could see it all in imagination. People on the crowded pavements jostled them, they passed close to the noses of van horses in crossing the Tottenham Court Road, and they noticed nothing of these surrounding sights, sounds, or pressures. They were both of them thousands of miles away.
The time of the Incas! Yes, he honestly believed that he had stumbled upon the trace of workings of emerald mines that were in use before the advent of the Spaniard. He might prove wrong, of course. He had been in a hurry, with no time for close investigations. Perhaps what he fancied had been wrought by human beings labouring was really made by nature using such of her tools as lay handy--storm, frost, sunshine, and the upheaving forces that had built the whole mountain backbone of the continent. In any case, the real point was--How many emeralds had man or nature left there?
At any rate, Dyke would go now and see for himself. It would be a lark. Let us leave it at that.
“Not a word to anybody, Emmie. You and I and old Pedro. No one else--till the day when I give my queen a tiara of green stones all as big as filberts, with a few Brazilian diamonds to flash among the greenness. Then when you go to the Opera--on one of the grand nights--you lovely Emmie, like a high priestess of the sun--then--But I say, let’s have tea. That is, if you don’t mind paying for it”; and, laughing, he grasped her elbow and led her into a crowded tea-shop.
They sat there, on a seat against the wall, at the end of a table that was occupied by other people; and Dyke while waiting for their tea and while eating two crumbly currant scones, continued to talk to her, but in a voice so low that no one else could hear. His eyes flashed sometimes, he raised his head and shook his hair; he was talking enthusiastically, with a freedom that he could only use to her, and in the midst of it quite automatically he pushed his cup across the marble table for more tea and picked up and began to eat another cake.
“You don’t know me yet. Above all, you don’t understand the impetus--the added drive--that your love has given to me. Listen. I can’t say it too often. You have lifted me up--you have placed me on high--you have _saved_ me. For your sake--oh, how I worship you when you say those words--for your sake, Emmie, I must and I shall keep on the summits of endeavour--and never yield to the powers of darkness or the cowardice of shameful compromises. I’m all out now--to the last ounce--for my good angel’s sake. Yes, two lumps, please. These buns are stale.”