She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. 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. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. "Who are the others?" "Let me see. "Auntie?" he cried. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood.
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