There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. You've a good deal to go through to-night. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. Let him have his honeymoon. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. Her heartbeat quickened. ” “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal.
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