” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. Men are always doing it, and if you set up to be a man—” “No, it’s absolutely out of the question, Mr. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. ” “But how did you tell him? You’ve never told me. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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