This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. 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. But, egad! I believe he will. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. He looked at her, hurt. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. "He's about to cross the river. Don’t stand gawping, man.
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