Of course, he told himself, Bobby wasn’t exactly a savage woman; but then again she was, you know, in a way.  She was from the point of view of Sister Cordelia.  But why consult Sister Cordelia at all?  Why not seek some “blossomed bower in dark purple spheres of sea”?  Not in China; it was too beastly smelly.  Not in Japan; mosquitos.  Not in America; never!  It should be some South Sea Island, where they would dwell, “the world forgetting, and by the world forgot.”

Once an Englishman slips the leash of his sentiment and quotes even a line of poetry, it carries him far afield.  In this case it led Percival a headlong chase over walls of tradition and barriers of pride.  He begrudged every moment that must elapse before he had Bobby to himself, and told her of his great decision.

“But isn’t it too late to be taking a walk?” she protested when the last dance was over, and he was urging a turn on the bund.

“Just a breath of fresh air.  Won’t take five minutes.  Where’s your wrap?”

“I haven’t any but my steamer-coat.  I don’t suppose you could stand that.”

“You will wear the Manchu coat,” said Percival, with tender authority; “there’s every reason why you should.”

XIII

PERCIVAL PROCRASTINATES

The little park that stretched between the bund and the water-front way deserted save for a few isolated couples who had strolled out from the hotel to cool off after the heat of the ball-room.  Percival and Bobby found a vine-clad summer-house where they could watch the tall ships riding at anchor in the bay, their riding-lights swaying amid the more stationary stars.  Closer to the water were the bobbing lights of the sleeping junks, while behind them twinkled the myriad lights of that vast native city the hem of whose garment they were merely touching.

The setting was all that Percival’s fastidious taste could desire, but now that he had “the time and the place and the loved one all together,” he found an epicure’s delight in lingering over his rapture.  This hour had a flavor, a bouquet, that no other hour would ever contain, and he preferred to sip it deliriously moment by moment.  He coaxed her to talk at length about himself, to put into her own words the impressions he had made upon her mentally, morally, and physically.  He never tired of beholding in the mirror of her mind the very images he had placed before it.

“You are a perfect little wizard!” he exclaimed in ecstasy.  “You read me like a book.  Quite sure you aren’t cold!”

“No,” said Bobby; “but I’m getting awfully sleepy.”

His pride took instant alarm.  After all, it was not the hour to press his suit.  He rose, and tenderly drew the shining folds of her wrap about her.

“I shall take you in.  Can’t allow you to lose your roses, you know.  To-morrow I must take better care of you.”