“I cannot keep silence any longer. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty.
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