CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. But though he made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought.
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