He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. Never sent for the shirt. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. "The idea of a Malay, born Mahometan, being reared in the Vatican, hit me as funny. " Jack was about to comply; but not liking the man's manner, he walked on.
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