She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. In Hamilton Place that is, like I told you before, miss. Is this a reason?’ ‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you. 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. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated.
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