You’re a lady. "Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. I know the Dutch. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. "So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, moping alone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour of bitterness?" "What can I do?" "You can go to her and take her in your arms. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. CHAPTER V.
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