ran by the sea. On each side of it were
plantations, coconut and vanilla; and now and then they saw a great
mango, its fruit yellow and red and purple among the massy green of the
leaves; now and then they had a glimpse of the lagoon, smooth and blue,
with here and there a tiny islet graceful with tall palms. Arnold
Jackson's house stood on a little hill and only a path led to it, so
they unharnessed the mare and tied her to a tree, leaving the trap by
the side of the road. To Bateman it seemed a happy-go-lucky way of doing
things. But when they went up to the house they were met by a tall,
handsome native woman, no longer young, with whom Edward cordially shook
hands. He introduced Bateman to her.

"This is my friend Mr Hunter. We're going to dine with you, Lavina."

"All right," she said, with a quick smile. "Arnold ain't back yet."

"We'll go down and bathe. Let us have a couple of _pareos_."

The woman nodded and went into the house.

"Who is that?" asked Bateman.

"Oh, that's Lavina. She's Arnold's wife."

Bateman tightened his lips, but said nothing. In a moment the woman
returned with a bundle, which she gave to Edward; and the two men,
scrambling down a steep path, made their way to a grove of coconut trees
on the beach. They undressed and Edward showed his friend how to make
the strip of red trade cotton which is called a _pareo_ into a very neat
pair of bathing-drawers. Soon they were splashing in the warm, shallow
water. Edward was in great spirits. He laughed and shouted and sang. He
might have been fifteen. Bateman had never seen him so gay, and
afterwards when they lay on the beach, smoking cigarettes, in the limpid
air, there was such an irresistible light-heartedness in him that
Bateman was taken aback.

"You seem to find life mighty pleasant," said he.

"I do."

They heard a soft movement and looking round saw that Arnold Jackson was
coming towards them.

"I thought I'd come down and fetch you two boys back," he said. "Did you
enjoy your bath, Mr Hunter?"

"Very much," said Bateman.

Arnold Jackson, no longer in spruce ducks, wore nothing but a _pareo_
round his loins and walked barefoot. His body was deeply browned by the
sun. With his long, curling white hair and his ascetic face he made a
fantastic figure in the native dress, but he bore himself without a
trace of self-consciousness.

"If you're ready we'll go right up," said Jackson.

"I'll just put on my clothes," said Bateman.