She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. Somehow logic could not explain her. Care for a hundred up?” Ennison shook his head. Teddy handed her into the second-class compartment her season-ticket warranted, and declared she was “simply splendid. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. She nodded. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs.
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