"Who is that?" asked Bateman.
"Oh, that's Lavina. She's Arnold's wife."
Bateman tightened his lips, but said nothing. In a moment the woman returned with a bundle, which she gave to Edward; and the two men, scrambling down a steep path, made their way to a grove of coconut trees on the beach. They undressed and Edward showed his friend how to make the strip of red trade cotton which is called a pareo into a very neat pair of bathing-drawers. Soon they were splashing in the warm, shallow water. Edward was in great spirits. He laughed and shouted and sang. He might have been fifteen. Bateman had never seen him so gay, and afterwards when they lay on the beach, smoking cigarettes, in the limpid air, there was such an irresistible light-heartedness in him that Bateman was taken aback.
"You seem to find life mighty pleasant," said he.
"I do."
They heard a soft movement and looking round saw that Arnold Jackson was coming towards them.
"I thought I'd come down and fetch you two boys back," he said. "Did you enjoy your bath, Mr Hunter?"
"Very much," said Bateman.
Arnold Jackson, no longer in spruce ducks, wore nothing but a pareo round his loins and walked barefoot. His body was deeply browned by the sun. With his long, curling white hair and his ascetic face he made a fantastic figure in the native dress, but he bore himself without a trace of self-consciousness.
"If you're ready we'll go right up," said Jackson.