The heroism of two beach combers had saved all on board and their own manhood as well. The door closed softly upon her. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. ‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Give me my pistol and my dagger. ’ Handing over the guineas, he added, ‘For you.
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