‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. He opened the drawer of the writing table. “Let me see,” he said. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. “To be an actress,” he said, “you require a special and peculiar temperament. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t.
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