"What you say is very interesting," observed Harnash, indifferently, "but it doesn't particularly concern me. The only type of woman that appeals to me is your type."
He emphasized this statement in truly appropriate, if somewhat conventional, fashion, and Stephanie received statement and emphasis alike with obvious satisfaction.
"There's another thing," she went on, when this second kiss had also run its course, "she doesn't look in any way--form or color or feature--like a South Sea islander. In these weary months of cruising and visiting island after island we have seen a great many, and not one of them has been as she."
"What does she look like?"
"A European. Our kind of people. She has white race somehow stamped all over her."
"Do you think she can be European?"
"Who knows? She didn't answer to any European language at my command. There wasn't a thing on her save the remains of a belt that seemed to have held some kind of a native skirt."
"After coming through that tidal wave the surprise is not that she had nothing on, but that they were alive at all. Beekman was in about the same case. Indeed, I don't think he had anything on, either. Probably the suit he wore when he went adrift was pretty old and could not stand much weathering. It was a happy thought of yours to have me bring some of Beekman's clothes with us in case we did find him. He couldn't have worn your father's or even mine now. He seems to have grown broader somehow. He looked as though he were a head taller than I am and he seemed in splendid bodily condition."
"The girl is shorter than I," said Stephanie, "but on a pinch she can wear my clothes."
"If she's an islander you'll find it difficult to get her into--er--many of the things civilized people wear."