He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. ’ She sipped at the liquid in her glass, but her eyes remained fixed, rather unnervingly, on Gerald. THAMES DARRELL.
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