Royson
leaped ashore in order to assist Irene to land. She, with school-girl
glee at emancipation from the narrow decks of the _Aphrodite_, sprang
on to the low pier at the same instant, and laughed at his surprise at
finding her standing by his side. They both extended a hand to Mr.
Fenshawe, who refused their aid, saying that the first breath of dry
air had made him feel as young as ever.
"There is no tonic like it," he said. "Look at Mrs. Haxton if you want
a proof. She was a lily in London--now she is a rose."
Excitement, or the prospect of success, had certainly given the lady's
complexion a fine tint. Her dainty profile offered a striking contrast
to the motley crew of negroid Arabs who surrounded her. And she came to
meet them in a buoyant spirit, though the fierce sun was scorching her
delicate skin through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I ought to have made a wager with you, Mr. Royson," she cried,
pronouncing his name very distinctly. "Our English-built craft cannot
hold its own against the Somali, you see.
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