White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. 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. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. At length, however, she threw herself off; and Jack carefully guiding the rope she landed in safety. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. It could not be she who had done this. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent.
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