“Dis ting he live for hammock,” replied the headman, coming forward with the flask in one hand and wiping his mouth with the back of the other. “His lid no good; no fit proper; all de rum fall out.” I snatched the empty flask, and shaking my fist at the grinning barbarian, turned to follow Pereira who had already vanished up the stairs. As I reached the top I saw my host standing, holding the door open, his face wreathed in smiles; and I strode forward with no little curiosity as to the treasure that he had to show me. But at the threshold I fell back in utter amazement, for there advanced to meet me the very handsomest and most stately lady that I had ever seen. “This is my daughter Isabel,” said the beaming Pereira. “Isabel, this is Mr. Englefield.” I am afraid that Miss Pereira’s first impression of me could hardly have been a favourable one, for between my astonishment and admiration I could do nothing but stand in the doorway gaping and mumbling like a fool, until I was recalled to consciousness by becoming aware that she had shaken my hand and was speaking to me. “It seems quite like meeting an old friend,” she was saying. “For although I have only been here a week or so, my father has talked so much about you that I seem to have known you for years. I assure you that your manners and customs are as an open book to me.” “I am glad to know that,” I replied, “for your worthy father has been pleased to present me at a great disadvantage. On the stage an astonished man may be picturesque and even dignified; in real life he is apt to rather resemble an imbecile.” “There, now,” said Miss Pereira, smiling mischievously, “see, my father, to what frightful danger you have exposed Mr. Englefield through your babyish desire to spring a surprise on him. He might have looked like an imbecile. But it wouldn’t have mattered,” she added thoughtfully. “I should have known it was an optical illusion.” “I am everlastingly obliged to your father,” said I, “for having explained my merits so clearly beforehand. Perhaps with the artful aid of a little soap and water I may endeavour to live up to my reputation.” “Yes, a hammock journey does certainly create a necessity for grooming, as I discovered a day or two ago, when I travelled to Amutinu and back. My hair has hardly recovered yet. When I got out of the hammock, it was like a mass of cocoa-nut fibre, and you will hardly believe me, I am sure, when I tell you on my pointing this out to my father, he actually forgot himself so far as to make an unseemly and most obvious joke on the subject. You will find your room as you left it, only, perhaps, a little more tidy. _Au revoir_,” and she curtseyed majestically as I departed, followed by Pereira. “Well, what do you think of my girl, Englefield?” the old man asked, as he made a pretence of helping me to unpack my portmanteau.