The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. 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. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. ’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice.
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