It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. " "I'll excuse it nevertheless," returned the little damsel, affectionately extending her hand to him. "A sail?" said McClintock. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. My people don’t know what to do. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. He turned the water off and handed her a towel.
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