" He
paused a moment, and an odd tremor went through him. "After twenty
years," he said, as if in wonder at himself.
Saltash's look came swiftly upwards. "I've heard that before," he said.
"Those she caught she kept--always. No other woman was ever worth while
after Rozelle."
Larpent's hand clenched instinctively, but he said nothing.
Saltash went on in the same casual tone. "She never caught me, _mon ami_.
I met her too late in life--when I was beginning to get fastidious." His
monkey-like grin showed for a moment. "I appreciated her charm, but--it
left me cold."
"You never saw her in her first youth," said Larpent, and into his fixed
eyes there came a curious glow--the look of a man who sees a vision.
"What was she like then?" said Saltash.
Slowly the sailor answered him, word by word as one spelling out a
strange language. "She was like a butterfly that plays among the
flowers in the early morning. She had the look of a boy--the wide-open
eyes, the fearless way, the freedom, the daring. Her innocence--her
loveliness--" Something rose unexpectedly in his throat. He stopped and
swallowed hard. "My God! How lovely she was!" he said, in a strangled
voice.
Saltash got up in his sudden, elastic fashion.
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