It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ” She looked down on him thoughtfully, and he let his admiration of her free young poise show in his face. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. ‘You make me talk, you make me talk.
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