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’ Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven.
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