Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. This is not what I want. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. I will be as silent as the grave. ’ ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun.
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