'A deserted city,' she was saying, 'a city of Portuguese settlers; pink marble palaces upon the edge of the water; almost crowded into the water by the encroaching jungle; monkeys peering through their ruined windows; on the sand, great sleepy tortoises; and, twining in and out of the broken doorways of the palaces, orchids and hibiscus--that is Trincomali! Would you like the tropics, I wonder, Julian? their exuberance, their vulgarity?... One buys little sacks full of precious stones; one puts in one's hand, and lets the sapphires and the rubies and the emeralds run through one's fingers.' Their eyes met; and her slight, infrequent confusion overcame her.... 'You aren't listening,' she murmured. 'You were only fifteen when you went to Ceylon,' he said, gazing at the blue smoke of his cigarette. 'You used to write to me from there. You had scarlet writing-paper. You were a deplorably affected child.' 'Yes,' she said, 'the only natural thing about me was my affectation.' They laughed, closely, intimately. 'It began when you were three,' he said, 'and insisted upon always wearing brown kid gloves; your voice was even deeper then than it is now, and you always called your father Robert.' 'You were five; you used to push me into the prickly pear.' 'And you tried to kill me with a dagger; do you remember?' 'Oh, yes,' she said quite gravely, 'there was a period when I always carried a dagger.' 'When you came back from Ceylon you had a tiger's claw.' 'With which I once cut my initials on your arm.' 'You were very theatrical.' 'You were very stoical.' Again they laughed. 'When you went to Ceylon,' he said, 'one of the ship's officers fell in love with you; you were very much amused.' 'The only occasion, I think, Julian, when I ever boasted to you of such a thing? You must forgive me--il ne faut pas m'en vouloir--remember I was only fifteen.' 'Such things amuse you still,' he said jealously. 'C'est possible,' she replied. He insisted,-- 'When did you really become aware of your own heartlessness?' She sparkled with laughter. 'I think it began life as a sense of humour,' she said, 'and degenerated gradually into its present state of spasmodic infamy.' He had smiled, but she saw his face suddenly darken, and he got up abruptly, and stood by the fountain, turning his back on her. 'My God,' she thought to herself in terror, 'he has remembered Paul.' She rose also, and went close to him, slipping her hand through his arm, endeavouring to use, perhaps unconsciously, the powerful weapon of her physical nearness. He did not shake away her hand, but he remained unresponsive, lost in contemplation of the water. She hesitated as to whether she should boldly attack the subject--she knew her danger; he would be difficult to acquire, easy to lose, no more tractable than a young colt--then in the stillness of the night she faintly heard the music of the gramophone playing in the village café.