“You must pack for me. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. He waited. . Suppose our proper place is a shrine. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. But now confound it! how can you prevent it? I will kiss you.
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