"Indeed, I think nothing so dreadful. But California is not the place where I can imagine a man of your tastes being happy. Were you so very happy on the Rocas Reef?"
"That has nothing to do with it. I should have been happy if I had had enough to do. I want some active work."
"Can you not find that in England?"
"I daresay I might. I hate England. I have nothing to keep me in England."
"But what has happened?" asked Angela. "You did not talk in this way when you came from the Rocas Reef."
"Because I did not know what a fool I could make of myself."
She glanced at him with a faint, sweet smile. "You alarm me, Mr. Heron," she said, very tranquilly. "What have you been doing?"
Percival started up from the low seat in which he had placed himself, walked to the window, and then came back to her side and looked at her. He was standing in one of his most defiant attitudes, with his hands thrust into his pockets, and a deep dent on his brow.
"I will tell you what I have been doing," he said, in a curiously dogged tone. "I'll give you my history for the last year or two. It isn't a creditable one. Will you listen to it or not?"
"I will listen to it," said Angela.