"Here, Ferlie! Put the brake on. You want a tropical island, fully supplied with everything but worry."
She jumped at that.
"An island! Yes. You are going to the Andamans. What are they like?"
"Populated where habitable, alas!"
"Don't tease. There must be an odd one among the number, where we might picnic."
"Under what flag? I mean, with what suitable excuse? You'd be hunted up and fêted and asked to Government House.... No, but let me think."
When he next raised his head she saw a solution had struck him.
"It's a daft scheme enough," he muttered. "But you are just a pair of lunatics at present, so here goes."
He pulled open a drawer and unrolled a couple of maps, selecting one to push towards her.
"These are the Nicobars; the nearest of 'em is twenty-four hours' journey from Port Blair of the Andamans. The Nicobarese are a totally different race from the Andamanese aboriginals, and a solitary missionary lives among them obeying the letter of the Christian Law with more spiritual optimism than horse-sense.