” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. ” There followed an instant’s pause, and then Ann Veronica had decided to misunderstand. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt.
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