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“Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. His arm closed in around her middle and she was caught. But Darrell averted his head. Once before—but that had been different. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. “But you’re dating Mike now, and I’m dating John. Quite right. He cherished her. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. She repeated phrases of Mrs. " "We'll be waiting for you. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them.
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