Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. 1. . “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position.
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