The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in. . And you promised to tell me. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security.
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