"
"I--I beg pardon," he drawled.
"Well, I'm a younger daughter, then," she amended; "and I have no hearth
nor saddle--I haven't anybody or anything--and I'm just as far on the
edge of things as you are."
"In your case, then, I'll admit there is a bit of romance," he confessed.
He could not help but think of the preceding nights, and of her sleeping
in the hammock on the veranda, under mosquito curtains, her bodyguard of
Tahitian sailors stretched out at the far corner of the veranda within
call. He had been too helpless to resist, but now he resolved she should
have his couch inside while he would take the hammock.
"You see, I had read and dreamed about romance all my life," she was
saying, "but I never, in my wildest fancies, thought that I should live
it. It was all so unexpected. Two years ago I thought there was nothing
left to me but. . . ." She faltered, and made a _moue_ of distaste.
"Well, the only thing that remained, it seemed to me, was marriage."
"And you preferred a cannibal isle and a cartridge-belt?" he suggested.
"I didn't think of the cannibal isle, but the cartridge-belt was
blissful."
"You wouldn't dare use the revolver if you were compelled to. Or,"
noting the glint in her eyes, "if you did use it, to--well, to hit
anything.
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