but tonight she was heedless of them. She had eyes for nothing but
the man she worshipped. Even in his silent moods she was content.
It was enough to feel his arms about her, to hear his heart
beating rhythmically beneath her head and, lying so, to look up
and see the firm curve of his chin and the slight moustache golden
brown against his tanned cheek.

She stirred slightly in his arms with a little sigh of happiness,
and the faint movement woke him from his abstraction.

"Sleepy?" he asked gently.

She laughed gaily at the suggestion and sat up to show how wide
awake she was. The light from a lantern fell full on her face and
Craven studied it with an intensity of which he was hardly aware.
She bore his scrutiny in silence for a few moments and then looked
away with a little grimace.

"Thinking me very ugly?" she hazarded tentatively.

"No. Very pretty," he replied truthfully. She leaned forward and
laid her cheek for a second against his, then cuddled down into
his arms again with a happy laugh. He lit a cigarette and tossed
the match over the verandah rail.

"What is your news, O Hara San?"

She did not speak for a moment, and when she did it was no answer
to his question. She reached up her hands and drawing his head
down toward her, looked earnestly into his eyes.