He looked at her flushed, eager face, at the great ropes of hair coiled on the small head, at the rounded lines of the figure showing plainly through the home-made gown, and at the eyes--boy's eyes, under cool, level brows--and he wondered why a being that was so much beautiful woman should be no woman at all.

Why in the deuce was she not carroty-haired, or cross-eyed, or hare-lipped?
"Suppose we do become partners on Berande," he said, at the same time experiencing a feeling of fright at the prospect that was tangled with a contradictory feeling of charm, "either I'll fall in love with you, or you with me.

Propinquity is dangerous, you know.

In fact, it is propinquity that usually gives the facer to the logic of youth." "If you think I came to the Solomons to get married--" she began wrathfully.

"Well, there are better men in Hawaii, that's all.