” “Sir John is an ass!” he declared. But Darrell averted his head. 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. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr. ’ ‘I thank you,’ Gerald said drily. I cannot turn into a bat. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. She was fine and tender.
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