He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. In the present instance she did not want any interference; she did not want the doctor's wisdom to edge in between these two young fools and spoil the drama.
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