’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. I thought Mr. As they 56 approached the manor, she was permitted to peep her head outside the chariot's front window. 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. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. That, I think, is manifest.
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