“If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. 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. ‘He’s already spoken for, Melusine. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. She wanted to be alone. She traced him by his scent. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently.
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