Then, finding a bit of lace work with the needles
meshed in it, she seated herself, and again he was looking down on
the droop of her long lashes and the seductive glow of her
lustrous hair. Yesterday, in a moment of irresistible impulse, he
had told her how lovely it was as she had dressed it, a bewitching
crown of interwoven coils, not drawn tightly, but crumpled and
soft, as if the mass of tresses were openly rebelling at closer
confinement. She had told him the effect was entirely accidental,
largely due to carelessness and haste in dressing it. Accidental
or otherwise, it was the same tonight, and in the heart of it were
the drooping red petals of a flower she had gathered with him
early that afternoon.
"St. Pierre brought me over," she said in a calmly matter-of-fact
voice, as though she had expected David to know that from the
beginning. "He is ashore talking over important matters with
Bateese. I am sure he will drop in and say good night before he
returns to the raft. He asked me to wait for him--here." She
raised her eyes, so clear and untroubled, so quietly unembarrassed
under his gaze, that he would have staked his life she had no
suspicion of the confessions which St.
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