She had seen Mrs. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. He had said so. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing.
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