of ivory, or spice, or precious stones. We should
soon be out of this country, should we not, old girl?"

"I do not think we have much to complain of," answered Jocelyn.

"No; you never do. Moreover, I do not suppose you would do so if you had
the excuse."

"Oh yes, I should, if I thought it would do any good."

"Ah!" put in Meredith. "There speaks Philosophy--jam, please."

"Or Resignation--that is strawberry and this is black currant."

"Thanks, black currant. No--Philosophy. Resignation is the most
loathsome of the virtues."

"I can't say I care for any of them very much," put in Maurice.

"No; I thought you seemed to shun them," said Jack, like a flash.

"Sharp! very sharp! Jocelyn, do you know what we called him at
school?--the French nail; he was so very long and thin and sharp! I
might add polished and strong, but we were not so polite in those
days. Poor old Jack! he gave as good as he got. But I must be off--the
commerce of Western Africa awaits me. You'll be round at the office
presently, I suppose, Jack?"

"Yes; I have an appointment there with a coloured person who is a liar
by nature and a cook by trade."

Maurice Gordon usually went off like this--at a moment's notice. He
was one of those loud-speaking, quick-actioned men, who often get a
reputation for energy and capacity without fully deserving it.

Jack, of a more meditative habit, rarely followed his host with the same
obvious haste. He finished his breakfast calmly, and then asked Jocelyn
whether she was coming out on to the verandah. It was a habit they had
unconsciously dropped into. The verandah was a very important feature
of the house, thickly overhung as it was with palms, bananas, and other
tropical verdure. Africa is the land of creepers, and all around
this verandah, over the trellis-work, around the supports, hanging in
festoons from the roof, were a thousand different creeping flowers. The
legend of the house--for, as in India, almost every bungalow on the West
Coast has its tale--was that one of the early missionaries had built
it, and, to beguile the long months of the rainy season, had carefully
collected these creepers to beautify the place against the arrival
of his young wife. She never came. A telegram stopped her. A snake
interrupted his labour of love.

Jack took a seat at once, and began to search for his cigar-case in the
pocket of his jacket. In this land of flies and moths men need not ask
permission before they