She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. "Tell me, what did they call you?" "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but the natives called me the Dawn Pearl. You can have no shecrets from me. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. " "What's the meaning of all this?" demanded Sir Cecil. ‘Seen her again, have you? Well, if she’s been giving you as much saucy impudence as I’ve had to contend with, I can only say I’m glad of it.
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