To-morrow we'll raise our first island. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. If this success continued, it would be easy to assume the name of Taber. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “Lift up one corner of the curtain for me.
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