“Who can tell?” she said. " "No; it is only—what shall I say?—troubled. You shall hear from me to-morrow. " "No fear of that," rejoined Rowland: "such vermin never dare to show themselves in this privileged district. In the middle there was a gate. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Only sat, staring at him, a puzzled look in her face. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her.
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