'This was the theory of Jim's marital¹ evening walks. I made a third on more than one occasion, unpleasantly aware every time of Cornelius, who nursed the aggrieved² sense of his legal paternity, slinking in the neighbourhood with that peculiar³ twist of his mouth as if he were perpetually on the point of gnashing his teeth. But do you notice how, three hundred miles beyond the end of telegraph cables and mail-boat lines, the haggard utilitarian⁴ lies of our civilisation⁵ wither⁶ and die, to be replaced by pure exercises of imagination, that have the futility⁷, often the charm, and sometimes the deep hidden truthfulness⁸, of works of art? Romance had singled Jim for its own -- and that was the true part of the story, which otherwise was all wrong. He did not hide his jewel. In fact, he was extremely proud of it.

'It comes to me now that I had, on the whole, seen very little of her. What I remember best is the even, olive pallor of her complexion⁹, and the intense blue-black gleams of her hair, flowing abundantly from under a small crimson¹⁰ cap she wore far back on her shapely head. Her movements were free, assured, and she blushed a dusky red. While Jim and I were talking, she would come and go with rapid glances at us, leaving on her passage an impression of grace and charm and a distinct suggestion of watchfulness¹¹. Her manner presented a curious combination of shyness and

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