“I am afraid you will need more freedom than you have, some day.”
She looked him full in the eyes. “Do you desire it?”
A faint sound fell upon the stillness of the forest; they listened; it came again from the distant sea.
“I think it is the yacht,” she said.
They rose together; he took her paddle, and they walked down the jungle path to the landing. Her canoe and his spare boat lay there, floating close together.
“It will be an hour before a boat from the yacht reaches the wrecked launch,” he said. “Will you wait in my boat?”
She bent her head and laid her hand in his, stepping lightly into the bow.
“Cast off and row me a little way,” she said, leaning back in the stern. “Isn’t this lagoon wonderful? See the color in water and sky. How green the forest is!—green as a young woodland in April. And the reeds are green and gold, and the west is all gold. Look at that great white bird—with wings like an angel’s! What is that heavenly odor from the forest? Oh,” she sighed, elbows on knees, “this is too delicious to be real!”
A moment later she began, irrelevantly: “Ethics! Ethics! who can teach them? One must know, and heed no teaching. All preconceived ideas may be wrong; I am quite sure I was wrong—sometimes.”
And again irrelevantly, “I was horribly intolerant once.”