He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. It feels like it. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. ’ A sudden frown sprang to the fellow’s face. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. He looked melancholy enough, it is true.
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