Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. I always fall on my feet, you know. ’ The mention of Alderley’s name, as Roding had confidently expected, caused the soldiers’ eyes to veer across to the young lady again, this time with a good deal less sympathy, and much more uncertainty. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University. Most unsatisfactory. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. 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.
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