“Rain water,” she informed him; “the cistern is full.”
“Then I’ll send Halvard to you.” He withdrew a step, but paused at the incivility of his leaving.
A sudden weariness had settled over the shoulders of Millie Stope; she appeared young and very white. Woolfolk was acutely conscious of her utter isolation with the shivering figure on the porch, the unmaterialized Nicholas. She had delicate hands.
“Good-by,” he said, bowing formally. “And thank you for the fishing.”
He whistled sharply for the tender.
King Vidor’s “Wild Oranges.” A Goldwyn Picture.
A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.