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. “You will have some tea?” she asked. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. Now if you are ready to go with me, I too am ready. I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile.
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