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" "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered. This whole affair is truly my fault. "It's of no use," observed Thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;—"my resolution is taken. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. Presently. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. I want you to think of me just as if I was a man, and quite outside marriage altogether. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was.
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