That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather. “After all, it’s our honeymoon.
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