Perhaps when she let herself go, in the strong seas, she
thought that he would be at heart her widower. Don't ask me. Whatever
poor little posthumous success of the sort she may have hoped for, she
at least paid for it heavily--and in advance. And, as you see, her ghost
never got what her body had paid for. It is just as well: why should
Stires have paid, all his life? But if you doubt the strength of her
sincerity, let me tell you what every one on Naapu was perfectly aware
of: she could swim like a Kanaka; and she must have let herself go on
those familiar waters, against every instinct, like a piece of
driftwood. Stires may have managed to blink that fact; but no one else
did.
Lockerbie gave a dinner-party at the end of the week, and Follet got
drunk quite early in the evening. He embarrassed every one (except me)
by announcing thickly, at dessert, that he would have married French Eva
if she hadn't drowned herself. I believed it no more the second time
than I had believed it the first. Anyhow, she wouldn't have had him.
Schneider left us during those days. We hardly noticed his departure.
Ching Po still prospers. Except Stires, we are not squeamish on Naapu.
THE PAST[10]
By ELLEN GLASGOW
(From _Good Housekeeping_)
I had no sooner entered the house than I knew something was wrong.
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