When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. 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. It was said, that he received an affront from James, in the shape of a public reprimand, which his pride could not forgive. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned.
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