I——” The door was thrown open. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. “It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. Mrs. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. He laughed. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. " The spinster did not ask if the mother lived; the question was inconsequent. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. 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. .
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