As long as he could possibly contain himself, Jerry maintained his stiffness.  And then, his love bursting beyond the control of him, he gave a sniff—­as prodigious a one as he had sniffed into the tunnel of Skipper’s hand in the long ago on the deck of the Arangi.  And, as Skipper had relaxed into the laughter of love, so did the lady-god now.  She gurgled gleefully.  Her fingers tightened, in a caress that almost hurt, on Jerry’s muzzle.  Her other hand and arm crushed him against her till he gasped.  Yet all the while his stump of tail valiantly bobbed back and forth, and, when released from such blissful contact, his silky ears flattened back and down as, with first a scarlet slash of tongue to cheek, he seized her hand between his teeth and dented the soft skin with a love bite that did not hurt.

And so, for Jerry, vanished Tulagi, its Commissioner’s bungalow on top of the hill, its vessels riding to anchor in the harbour, and Michael, his full blood-brother.  He had grown accustomed to such vanishments.  In such way had vanished as in the mirage of a dream, Meringe, Somo, and the Arangi.  In such way had vanished all the worlds and harbours and roadsteads and atoll lagoons where the Ariel had lifted her laid anchor and gone on across and over the erasing sea-rim.