His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. ’ ‘Now why didn’t I make that connection?’ Gerald asked of the air in a tone of regret. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. \"Are you aware that every girl in Princeton Hills would kill for a chance at him? I think it's simple. There was little fighting spirit here. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire.
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