Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Let me recommend a glass of wine. I must not let you go again. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. "Tell me, what did they call you?" "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but the natives called me the Dawn Pearl.
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