"She's somewhere in the sunlight strong...."=
And followed this with bits from Bliss Carman, and other bits from Henley's London Nocturnes, and from Wilfred Blunt and Swinburne and Mrs. Browning. She had a curiously strong feeling for the color of Medieval Italy. She spoke reverently of Dante. Villon she knew, too, and Racine and the French classicists. She even murmured tenderly de Musset's J'ai dis à mon coeur, in French of which he caught not a word and was ashamed. For he had cut French, too.
And then, as the sun mounted higher and the gentle rush of the river along the hull and the continuous chantey of the oarsmen floated, more and more soothingly to their ears, they fell quiet, her hand still pleasantly in his. Together they hummed certain of the current popular songs, he thinking them good, she smiling not unhappily as her voice blended prettily with his. And Griggsby Doane heard them.
At last she murmured: “I think I coul' rest now.”
“I'm glad,” said he, and drew down a coil of rope for a pillow, and left her sleeping there.
Doane heard his step, but for a moment could not lift his head. Finally the boy, standing respectfully, spoke his name: “Mr. Doane!”
“Yes.”
“May I sit here with you?”
“Of course. Do.”
“I've got to talk to somebody. It's so strange. You see, she and I—Miss Hui Fei—it's all been such a whirl I couldn't think, but....”