He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. “Your mother was a Gypsy. “You permitted me then to call you my friend. ” “It scarcely gives me a chance,” Mr.
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