He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. You will obey me out of common decency. He kissed her cheek. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. “Odd!” she said. He loved you. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart.
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