“By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. “Lord!” she said. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. I want to do something. I'll go with you. There was something indeed holding the whole species back from the imaginable largeness of life. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. ” “Right!” he answered.
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