He declined to sleep ashore, took his orders, and went back on board the
cutter. A lurid sunset was blotted out by the heaviest squall of the
day, and Sheldon watched the whale-boat arrive in the thick of it. As
the spritsail was taken in and the boat headed on to the beach, he was
aware of a distinct hurt at sight of Joan at the steering-oar, standing
erect and swaying her strength to it as she resisted the pressures that
tended to throw the craft broadside in the surf. Her Tahitians leaped
out and rushed the boat high up the beach, and she led her bizarre
following through the gate of the compound.
The first drops of rain were driving like hail-stones, the tall cocoanut
palms were bending and writhing in the grip of the wind, while the thick
cloud-mass of the squall turned the brief tropic twilight abruptly to
night.
Quite unconsciously the brooding anxiety of the afternoon slipped from
Sheldon, and he felt strangely cheered at the sight of her running up the
steps laughing, face flushed, hair flying, her breast heaving from the
violence of her late exertions.
"Lovely, perfectly lovely--Pari-Sulay," she panted. "I shall buy it.
I'll write to the Commissioner to-night. And the site for the
bungalow--I've selected it already--is wonderful. You must come over
some day and advise me. You won't mind my staying here until I can get
settled? Wasn't that squall beautiful? And I suppose I'm late for
dinner. I'll run and get clean, and be with you in a minute."
And in the brief interval of her absence he found himself walking about
the big living-room and impatiently and with anticipation awaiting her
coming.
"Do you know, I'm never going to squabble with you again," he announced
when they were seated.
"Squabble!" was the retort. "It's such a sordid word. It sounds cheap
and nasty. I think it's much nicer to quarrel."
"Call it what you please, but we won't do it any more, will we?" He
cleared his throat nervously, for her eyes advertised the immediate
beginning of hostilities. "I beg your pardon," he hurried on. "I should
have spoken for myself. What I mean is that I refuse to quarrel. You
have the most horrible way, without uttering a word, of making me play
the fool. Why, I began with the kindest intentions, and here I am now--"
"Making nasty remarks," she completed for him.
"It's the way you have of catching me up," he complained.
"Why, I never said a word. I was merely sitting here, being sweetly
lured on by promises of peace on earth and all the rest of it, when
suddenly you began to call me names."
"Hardly that, I am sure."
"Well, you said I was horrible, or that I had a horrible way about me,
which is the same thing. I wish my bungalow were up. I'd move
to-morrow."
But her twitching lips belied her words, and the next moment the man was
more uncomfortable than ever, being made so by her laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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