I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. She turned a resolute face southward. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Hugging him in the beautiful dress in front of the teenagers was strangely soothing to her. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. I did so. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe.
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