She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. ‘I am not French in the least, bête. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense.
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