ce;
I will take some savage woman--"

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 ecst