” “Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. “I saw his face in a mirror. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. " "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers.
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