" "As you please, Sir,—provided you don't let him off. On the way he confessed. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. He smiled. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. "Tell me, what did they call you?" "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but the natives called me the Dawn Pearl.
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