"We must keep still. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted. ” The girl on the lounge drew a long sobbing breath. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine.
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