"Hm! I remember. What sort of a man is he?"
Eleanor looked up, fairly startled with the audacity of her host; and only replied gravely, "I am unable to say."
Mr. Esthwaite at least had a sense of humour in him; for he smiled, and his lips kept pertinaciously unsteady for some time, even while he went on talking.
"I mean—is he a man calculated for savage, or for civilized life?"
"I hope so," said Eleanor wilfully.
"Mr. Esthwaite! you astonish me!" said his wife.
Mr. Esthwaite seemed however highly amused. "Do you know what savage life is?" he said to Eleanor. "It is not what you think. It is not a garden of roses, with a pineapple tucked away behind every bush. Now if you would come here—here is a grand opening. Here is every sort of work wanting you—and Mr. Rhys—whatever the line of his talents may be. We'll build him a church, and we'll go and hear him, and we'll make much of you. Seriously, if my good cousin had known what she was sending you to, she would have wished the 'Diana' should sink with you on board, rather than get to the end of her voyage. It is quite self-denial enough to come here—when one does not expect to gain anything by it."
"Mr. Esthwaite! Egbert!" cried his wife. "Now you are caught! Self-denial to come here! That is what you mean by all your talk about the Colonies and England!"
"Don't be—silly,—my dear," said her husband. "These people would think it so. I don't; but I am addressing myself to their prejudices. Self-denial is what they are after."
"It is not what I am after," said Eleanor laughing. "I must break up your prejudices."