Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “I want an engagement. You are all the beauty in the world. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. E.
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