The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. The weather harmonized with their feelings. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. Easily. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it.
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