And on their way home they met her strolling towards the quay. She had all her finery on. Her great white hat with its vulgar, showy flowers was an affront. She called out cheerily to them as she went by, and a couple of American sailors who were standing there grinned as the ladies set their faces to an icy stare. They got in just before the rain began to fall again.
"I guess she'll get her fine clothes spoilt," said Mrs Davidson with a bitter sneer.
Davidson did not come in till they were half way through dinner. He was wet through, but he would not change. He sat, morose and silent, refusing to eat more than a mouthful, and he stared at the slanting rain. When Mrs Davidson told him of their two encounters with Miss Thompson he did not answer. His deepening frown alone showed that he had heard.
"Don't you think we ought to make Mr Horn turn her out of here?" asked Mrs Davidson. "We can't allow her to insult us."
"There doesn't seem to be any other place for her to go," said Macphail.
"She can live with one of the natives."
"In weather like this a native hut must be a rather uncomfortable place to live in."
"I lived in one for years," said the missionary.
When the little native girl brought in the fried bananas which formed the sweet they had every day, Davidson turned to her.
"Ask Miss Thompson when it would be convenient for me to see her," he said.