Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. The gong will go at seven-thirty. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. He was a little embarrassed. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. " "They are useless," she returned. "If I escape, I will reward you. " There was a pause.
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