"Why, Teddie, didn't you bring a _pareo_ for your friend?"

"I guess he'd rather wear clothes," smiled Edward.

"I certainly would," answered Bateman, grimly, as he saw Edward gird
himself in the loincloth and stand ready to start before he himself had
got his shirt on.

"Won't you find it rough walking without your shoes?" he asked Edward.
"It struck me the path was a trifle rocky."

"Oh, I'm used to it."

"It's a comfort to get into a _pareo_ when one gets back from town,"
said Jackson. "If you were going to stay here I should strongly
recommend you to adopt it. It's one of the most sensible costumes I have
ever come across. It's cool, convenient, and inexpensive."

They walked up to the house, and Jackson took them into a large room
with white-washed walls and an open ceiling in which a table was laid
for dinner. Bateman noticed that it was set for five.

"Eva, come and show yourself to Teddie's friend, and then shake us a
cocktail," called Jackson.

Then he led Bateman to a long low window.

"Look at that," he said, with a dramatic gesture. "Look well."

Below them coconut trees tumbled down steeply to the lagoon, and the
lagoon in the evening light had the colour, tender and varied, of a
dove's breast. On a creek, at a little distance, were the clustered huts
of a native village, and towards the reef was a canoe, sharply
silhouetted, in which were a couple of natives fishing. Then, beyond,
you saw the vast calmness of the Pacific and twenty miles away, airy and
unsubstantial like the fabric of a poet's fancy, the unimaginable beauty
of the island which is called Murea. It was all so lovely that Bateman
stood abashed.

"I've never seen anything like it," he said at last.

Arnold Jackson stood staring in front of him, and in his eyes was a
dreamy softness. His thin, thoughtful face was very grave. Bateman,
glancing at it, was once more conscious of its intense spirituality.

"Beauty," murmured Arnold Jackson. "You seldom see beauty face to face.
Look at it well, Mr Hunter, for what you see now you will never see
again, since the moment is transitory, but it will be an imperishable
memory in your heart. You touch eternity."

His voice was deep and resonant. He seemed to breathe forth the purest
idealism, and Bateman had to urge himself to remember that the man who
spoke was a criminal and a cruel cheat. But Edward, as though he heard a
sound, turned round quickly.

"Here is my daughter, Mr Hunter."