She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. What is he—English or American?" "American. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. John has made me so happy, I’ve been losing myself in him. “This place is very beautiful. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault.
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