To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. “On or about the day you receive this letter, Anna, the six months will be up. All this was the work of a minute. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well. You will obey me out of common decency. "Right to a farthing. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue.
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