Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. " "You don't inquire what brings Sir James Thornhill here?" said Austin. Besides, she will do no such thing. " "This comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. 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. She decided to leave after Prom.
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