They thought that she was her own mother. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Some day older people, perhaps, will trouble to understand younger people, and there won’t be these fierce disruptions; there won’t be barriers one must defy or perish. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. I could not dream of loving you. I beg that you will consider me your friend. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again.
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