"
He looked up at me gratefully, and replied: "I know that--I know that. It
is more than I deserve."
Then he began to speak of his past. He told me of Hungerford's kindness
to him on the 'Dancing Kate', of his luckless days at Port Darwin, of his
search for his wife, his writing to her, and her refusal to see him. He
did not rail against her. He apologised for her, and reproached himself.
"She is most singular," he continued, "and different from most women. She
never said she loved me, and she never did, I know. Her father urged her
to marry me; he thought I was a good man."
Here he laughed a little bitterly. "But it was a bad day for her. She
never loved any one, I think, and she cannot understand what love is,
though many have cared for her. She is silent where herself is concerned.
I think there was some trouble--not love, I am sure of that--which vexed
her, and made her a little severe at times; something connected with her
life, or her father's life, in Samoa. One can only guess, but white men
take what are called native wives there very often--and who can tell? Her
father--but that is her secret! .
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