The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never. Give me but leave to try. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not.
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