” “Alive,” Annabel moaned, her eyes large with terror. I would that you were my own. She looked at him mournfully. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. Because of the Dance.
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