When he was given the telegram he flew to the Praya, engaged the fast motorboat he had previously bespoken against the need, and started for the Macao Passage, with the vague hope of speaking The Tigress. She shuddered with relief as it seemed that Mike and Shari were still out and about. He pulled down a chair to her left. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. She opened and read it at once. “I—I shall be all right directly.
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