And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. “Indeed, I must implore you to return. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me.
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