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"Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. "Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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