CHAPTER XVII. ‘I find you excessively rude, both of you,’ said the lady crossly. That's a queer yarn. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. He's the only native I trust in these parts. Even that he sleeps, I must give to him my thanks, for he has been excessively brave for me. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. Too late. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. You, Anna, are one of them. ‘Dear me.
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