That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. "I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. I'm about to leave this country for ever. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly.
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