Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet.
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