He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. Hobson was not 147 amused by the situation, which handled wrongly, could lose him his job. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images.
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