'I only see Samson,' he said. 'He groweth bigger as we approach. That is not uncommon with islands. I perceive that he hath two hills, one on the north and the other on the south; he showeth--perhaps with pride--a narrow plain in the middle. The hills appear to be strewn with boulders, and there are carns, and perhaps Logan stones. There is always a Logan stone, but you can never find it. There are also, I perceive, ruins. Samson looks quite a large island when you come near to it. Life on Samson must be curiously peaceful. No post-office, no telegrams, no telephones, no tennis, no shops, no papers, no people--good heavens! For a whole month one would enjoy Samson.' 'Don't you see her?' repeated Roland. 'She is coming down the hillside.' 'I dare say I do see her if I knew it; but I cannot at this distance, even with assisted eyes----' 'Oh! a blue dress--blue--against the brown and yellow of the fern. Can you not----?' Dick gazed with the slow, uncertain eyes of short sight, and adjusted his glasses. 'My pal,' he said, 'to please you I would pretend to see anything. In fact, I always do: it saves trouble. I see her plainly--blue dress, you say--certainly--sitting on a rock----' 'Nonsense! She is walking down the hill. You don't see her at all.' 'Quite so. Coming down the hill,' Dick replied, unmoved. 'She has been in my mind all night. I have been thinking all kinds of things--impossible things--about this nymph. She is not in the least common, to begin with. She is----' 'She is only a child, Roland. Don't----' 'A child? Why shouldn't she be a child? I suppose I may admire a beautiful child? Do you insinuate that I am going to make love to her?' 'Well, old man, you mostly do.' 'It was not so dark last night but one could see that she is a very beautiful girl. She looks eighteen, but our friend last night assured us that she is not yet sixteen. A very beautiful girl she is: features regular, and a head that ought to be modelled. She is dark, like a Spaniard.' 'Gipsy, probably. Name of Stanley or Smith--Pharaoh Stanley was, most likely, her papa.' 'Gipsy yourself! Who ever heard of a gipsy on Scilly? You might as well look for an organ-grinder! Spanish blood, I swear! Castilian of the deepest blue. Then her eyes! You didn't observe her eyes?' 'I was too hungry. Besides, as usual, I was doing all the work.' 'They are black eyes----' 'The Romany have black eyes--roving eyes--hard, bold, bad, black eyes.' 'Soft black--not hard black. The dark velvet eyes which hold the light. Dick, I should like to paint those eyes. She is now looking at our boat. I can see her lifting her hand to shade her eyes. I should like to paint those eyes just at the moment when she gives away her heart.' 'You cannot, Childe Roland, because there could only be one other person present on that interesting occasion. And that person must not be you.' 'Dick, too often you are little better than an ass.'