Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. “I’ve gotta go. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away.
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