” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. ” “I suppose I must have thought so. ’ Melusine giggled. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. But me, I am going to England. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. What is he—English or American?" "American. White,” she remarked. Imbecile.
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