dson came out.
Silence fell upon them.

"I'm ready to go back now," she said.

Her voice was hard and steady. Dr Macphail could not understand the look
in her eyes. Her pale face was very stern. They walked back slowly,
never saying a word, and at last they came round the bend on the other
side of which stood their house. Mrs Davidson gave a gasp, and for a
moment they stopped still. An incredible sound assaulted their ears. The
gramophone which had been silent for so long was playing, playing
ragtime loud and harsh.

"What's that?" cried Mrs Macphail with horror.

"Let's go on," said Mrs Davidson.

They walked up the steps and entered the hall. Miss Thompson was
standing at her door, chatting with a sailor. A sudden change had taken
place in her. She was no longer the cowed drudge of the last days. She
was dressed in all her finery, in her white dress, with the high shiny
boots over which her fat legs bulged in their cotton stockings; her hair
was elaborately arranged; and she wore that enormous hat covered with
gaudy flowers. Her face was painted, her eyebrows were boldly black, and
her lips were scarlet. She held herself erect. She was the flaunting
quean that they had known at first. As they came in she broke into a
loud, jeering laugh; and then, when Mrs Davidson involuntarily stopped,
she collected the spittle in her mouth and spat. Mrs Davidson cowered
back, and two red spots rose suddenly to her cheeks. Then, covering her
face with her hands, she broke away and ran quickly up the stairs. Dr
Macphail was outraged. He pushed past the woman into her room.

"What the devil are you doing?" he cried. "Stop that damned machine."

He went up to it and tore the record off. She turned on him.

"Say, doc, you can that stuff with me. What the hell are you doin' in my
room?"

"What do you mean?" he cried. "What d'you mean?"

She gathered herself together. No one could describe the scorn of her
expression or the contemptuous hatred she put into her answer.

"You men! You filthy, dirty pigs! You're all the same, all of you. Pigs!
Pigs!"

Dr Macphail gasped. He understood.

VIII

_Envoi_

When your ship leaves Honolulu they hang _leis_ round your neck,
garlands of sweet smelling flowers. The wharf is crowded and the band
plays a melting Hawaiian tune. The people on board throw coloured
streamers to those standing below, and the side of the ship is gay with
the thin lines of paper, red and green and y