‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. ” He held out his hand obediently. She cried out with the pain of it. Tell me what you think the island is like. 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. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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