Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Now if she sent fifteen pounds the suggestion that she had spent a five-pound note in the meanwhile would be irresistible. “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum. I will tell you this much, because you have been kind. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Jonathan Wild and his bloodhounds, with a hundred others, incited by the reward, will be upon my track. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist.
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