Ricardo was not used to a prolonged effort of self-control. His craft,
his artfulness, felt themselves always at the mercy of his nature, which
was truly feral and only held in subjection by the influence of the
"governor," the prestige of a gentleman. It had its cunning too, but it
was being almost too severely tried since the feral solution of a growl
and a spring was forbidden by the problem. Ricardo dared not venture out
on the cleared ground. He dared not.
"If I meet the beggar," he thought, "I don't know what I mayn't do. I
daren't trust myself."
What exasperated him just now was his inability to understand
Heyst. Ricardo was human enough to suffer from the discovery of his
limitations. No, he couldn't size Heyst up. He could kill him with
extreme ease--a growl and a spring--but that was forbidden! However, he
could not remain indefinitely under the funereal blackboard.
"I must make a move," he thought.
He moved on, his head swimming a little with the repressed desire of
violence, and came out openly in front of the bungalows, as if he had
just been down to the jetty to look at the boat. The sunshine enveloped
him, very brilliant, very still, very hot. The three buildings faced
him. The one with the rug on the balustrade was the most distant; next
to it was the empty bungalow; the nearest, with the flower-beds at the
foot of its veranda, contained that bothersome girl, who had managed
so provokingly to keep herself invisible.
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