She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. . “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard.
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