He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Actually, he had come all this distance simply to fulfil a certain clause in his contract with Fate, to be in Canton on this particular day. The tired woman looked quietly at her. He was not a sailor. Old saltwater was right. I don't believe his name is Taber. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more.
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