It came, a crowding of perceptions and sensations, but Charlotte’s pleasure was almost ecstatic.
“Beautiful, beautiful!” she murmured. “It is a veritable paradise.”
“Is it?” said Maclaughlin’s knowing voice behind her. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs. Collingwood. My wife has been doubting you’d find it dull. Martin and I will take ours with a bandstand and a few trolley-cars and a chop-house thrown in, eh, Collingwood?”
“Oh, shut up, Mac, don’t pour cold water on my wife’s enthusiasms. Besides, she’s got a poetic soul, and you and I haven’t.”
Charlotte stared. “What will you endow me with next?” she asked. “A poetic soul! Martin, who has been talking about poetry for the last two months?”
“I don’t mind admitting,” said Mr. Collingwood shamelessly, “that I have, or, at least, I’ve been dwelling on the poetry of love and I found you responsive. Therefore I deduced a poetic soul—sort of Sherlock Holmes. Sabe?”
She made no reply beyond one of those reproachful head shakes which indicate the compromise between duty and inclination. Martin grinned. He knew when she tried to be severe, but was yet secretly pleased with him.
Charlotte did what she could to repair the dishevelled appearance caused by sleeping dressed in the steamer chair. A few minutes later, they were all in the boat, speeding straight for the nipa cottages. Martin explained that the launch could go in no further on account of the coral reef; but, he said, a mile or more to the southward, where the hill jutted out, there was a channel cut through the reef, and the launch could come close in and find anchorage in a pool which lay under the cliff. A rude pier had been constructed there, and there their freight would be landed and then dragged up to them along the beach in a carabao cart; for they had one draft animal. He further informed her that the launch lay down at the anchorage every night, and came up abreast the cottages every morning to pick up the fishers, for it was easier to be rowed out than to trudge down the mile of sand.
As they drew near the shore, Charlotte perceived that, in spite of the steep roofs, the cottages had something of an American air, having broad verandas in front; while one, which she imagined must be the Maclaughlin home, was covered with morning glory vines. The houses sat back about fifty yards from the beach, just where the cocoanut grove came to an end, and it was evident that the sea breeze made them deliciously cool.
A man was pacing up and down the beach, and, as the boat grounded, a woman emerged from the vine-wreathed cottage, and came swiftly on, flapping a kitchen apron which she was wearing, and making other gestures of welcome. Charlotte had little time to observe either closely, for her attention was quite taken up with the novel preparations for landing her and her companions. Full thirty feet of water intervened between them and the dry sand, not deep enough to drown in, but quite enough to spoil dress and shoes. The Filipino oarsmen met the difficulty, however, by rolling up their trousers and going overboard. They made a chair of their clasped hands, and Charlotte, seating herself therein, was carried ashore and set down in front of Mrs. Maclaughlin.