Summary

Ralph Stock South of the Line — The Spell (1922)

For all his six feet of good-looking, powerfully built manhood, backed by an income that would have been the ruination of most men, he was a child—pleasure-loving, irresponsible, simple of soul.
But to return to the absurd wreath of flowers. It was made of crimson drala blossoms and thrown to him from one of the canoes that swarmed round the schooner like a flock of sea birds. Fenner was standing at the rail, and when he slipped the wreath over his head, and stood there like a six-foot, twentieth-century Dryad, a great shout went up.
Source: Wikisource

Ralph Stock South of the Line — The Spell (1922)

Lady Fenner fixed me with the penetrating gray eyes that had haunted me from Levuka to London.
"The tour was a mistake," she announced with her usual abruptness. "It was badly managed."
I wanted to ask her how she would have ordered the movements of a twenty-five-year-old child of independent means and nature during a year's world wanderings, but refrained. She would have told me.
"Rex was to have seen the world," she accused. "But from what I can learn he has seen nothing but some islands—somewhere or other. What was the attraction?"
Source: Wikisource

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