Her handsome brown eyes held the light of battle and her colour was high.

She straightened a chair, standing against the wall at the stair-head, with a neatly professional hand in passing.
"Mrs.Cooper and I were fairly wild waiting down on the sea-wall with the lantern, thinking of drowning and--worse,--when"-- she glanced sharply at her companion and, lowering her eyes altered the position of the chair by a couple of inches--"when Captain Faircloth's boat came up beside the breakwater and he carried Miss Damaris ashore and across the garden." "Stop"-- Theresa broke in--"I do not follow you.

Faircloth, Captain Faircloth?
You are not, I earnestly hope, speaking of the owner of that low public-house on the island ?" "Yes--him," Mary returned grimly, her eyes still lowered.
"And do you mean me to understand that this young man carried Miss Damaris--actually carried her"-- Miss Bilson choked and cleared her throat with a foolish little crowing sound--"carried her all the way into the house--in his arms ?" "Yes, in his arms, Miss.

How else would you have had him carry her ?--And, as gentle and careful as any woman could, too--into the house and right upstairs here"-- pointing along the passage as if veritably beholding the scene once more--"and into her own bedroom." "How shocking.

How extremely improper!" Theresa beat her fat little hands hysterically together.