"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. He could not make good his hold. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. Stonily he had disengaged himself.
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