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. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. "Untie his arms, and take off that handkerchief. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely.
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