She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. "Certain. ‘You don’t know the whole, child. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. Maternal relations. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact.
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