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“Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. “I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. . Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. A neat tale, giving little away.

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