’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. They must have a key. "I read those stories. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered.
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