‘So are you. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. We have played at a little mild lovemaking again. It was impulsive and natural. Sheppard, horror-stricken. Still —there you are!” He paused. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. “I was frightened then,” she declared. I can smell you. " "Go on, tell me," he urged, enchanted. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner.
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