Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited.
For a time Spurlock did not move. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Unexpectedly he found himself speeding toward the father.
"Enschede!" he called.
Enschede halted. "Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side.
"Are you a human being, to leave her thus?"
"It is better so. You heard her. What she said is true."
"But why? In the name of God, why? Your flesh and blood! Have you never loved anything?"
"Are you indeed my daughter's lawful husband?" Enschede countered.
"I am. You will find the proof in McClintock's safe. You called her a wanton!"
"Because I had every reason to believe she was one. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue." Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless.