“You’re a biologist, aren’t you?” He began to talk of his own impressions of biology as a commonplace magazine reader who had to get what he could from the monthly reviews, and was glad to meet with any information from nearer the fountainhead. John said nothing. He knew that he could translate literally. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also. 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. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped.
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