“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. "I never told anybody," she went on. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot.
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