The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. I have been waiting a long time for a family like them. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "I've done all I can to the portrait here. And no ill-chances.
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