Bateman reflected, moreover, that it would be as well to learn what he could about Arnold Jackson. It was plain that he had a great ascendency over Edward, and if it was to be combated it was necessary to discover in what exactly it consisted. The more he talked with Edward the more conscious he became that a change had taken place in him. He had an instinct that it behooved him to walk warily, and he made up his mind not to broach the real purport of his visit till he saw his way more clearly. He began to talk of one thing and another, of his journey and what he had achieved by it, of politics in Chicago, of this common friend and that, of their days together at college. At last Edward said he must get back to his work and proposed that he should fetch Bateman at five so that they could drive out together to Arnold Jackson's house. "By the way, I rather thought you'd be living at this hotel," said Bateman, as he strolled out of the garden with Edward. "I understand it's the only decent one here." "Not I," laughed Edward. "It's a deal too grand for me. I rent a room just outside the town. It's cheap and clean." "If I remember right those weren't the points that seemed most important to you when you lived in Chicago." "Chicago!" "I don't know what you mean by that, Edward. It's the greatest city in the world." "I know," said Edward. Bateman glanced at him quickly, but his face was inscrutable. "When are you coming back to it?" "I often wonder," smiled Edward. This answer, and the manner of it, staggered Bateman, but before he could ask for an explanation Edward waved to a half-caste who was driving a passing motor. "Give us a ride down, Charlie," he said. He nodded to Bateman, and ran after the machine that had pulled up a few yards in front. Bateman was left to piece together a mass of perplexing impressions. Edward called for him in a rickety trap drawn by an old mare, and they drove along a road that ran by the sea. On each side of it were plantations, coconut and vanilla; and now and then they saw a great mango, its fruit yellow and red and purple among the massy green of the leaves; now and then they had a glimpse of the lagoon, smooth and blue, with here and there a tiny islet graceful with tall palms. Arnold Jackson's house stood on a little hill and only a path led to it, so they unharnessed the mare and tied her to a tree, leaving the trap by the side of the road. To Bateman it seemed a happy-go-lucky way of doing things. But when they went up to the house they were met by a tall, handsome native woman, no longer young, with whom Edward cordially shook hands. He introduced Bateman to her. "This is my friend Mr Hunter. We're going to dine with you, Lavina." "All right," she said, with a quick smile. "Arnold ain't back yet." "We'll go down and bathe. Let us have a couple of _pareos_." The woman nodded and went into the house. "Who is that?" asked Bateman. "Oh, that's Lavina. She's Arnold's wife."