Drummond had made an abominable mistake. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer.
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