" "Permit me to see it, Sir James!" requested Jack. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. He had never wanted daughters. Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. 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.
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