Peter Blood's attention, however, was elsewhere.
On his right stretched a spacious garden, beyond which rose the white house that was the residence of the Deputy-Governor.

In that garden's main avenue, that was fringed with palm and sandalwood, he had caught sight of Miss Bishop alone.

He crossed the courtyard with suddenly lengthened stride.
"Good-morning to ye, ma'am," was his greeting as he overtook her; and hat in hand now, he added on a note of protest: "Sure, it's nothing less than uncharitable to make me run in this heat." "Why do you run, then ?" she asked him coolly, standing slim and straight before him, all in white and very maidenly save in her unnatural composure.

"I am pressed," she informed him.

"So you will forgive me if I do not stay." "You were none so pressed until I came," he protested, and if his thin lips smiled, his blue eyes were oddly hard.
"Since you perceive it, sir, I wonder that you trouble to be so insistent." That crossed the swords between them, and it was against Blood's instincts to avoid an engagement.
"Faith, you explain yourself after a fashion," said he.