So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. Promise me. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. .
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