“Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. I daresay that is one of the names of the nuns in your convent. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. CHAPTER VIII. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. I shall be delighted to rescue you.
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