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During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. I bent over him. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. But she must not laugh.
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