He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. 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. This woman knows me—’ throwing the remark at Lucilla ‘—and that I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. As Mrs. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy.
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