As for loving you, I do. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. To think of him as loving her would make all that different. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. She was honest again.
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