slave of some depraved habit. And I returned to her with my head
clear, my heart certainly free, not even moved by pity for that
castaway (she was as much of a castaway as any one ever wrecked on
a desert island), but as if beguiled by some extraordinary promise.
Nothing more unworthy could be imagined. The recollection of that
tremulous whisper when I gripped her shoulder with one hand and
held a plate of chicken with the other was enough to make me break
all my good resolutions.

Her insulting taciturnity was enough sometimes to make one gnash
one's teeth with rage. When she opened her mouth it was only to be
abominably rude in harsh tones to the associate of her reprobate
father; and the full approval of her aged relative was conveyed to
her by offensive chuckles. If not that, then her remarks, always
uttered in the tone of scathing contempt, were of the most
appalling inanity.

How could it have been otherwise? That plump, ruffianly Jacobus
old maid in the tight grey frock had never taught her any manners.
Manners I suppose are not necessary for born castaways. No
educational establishment could ever be induced to accept her as a
pupil--on account of the proprieties, I imagine. And Jacobus had
not been able to send her away anywhere. How could he have done
it? Who with? Where to? He himself was not enough of an
adventurer to think of settling down anywhere else. His passion
had tossed him at the tail of a circus up and down strange coasts,
but, the storm over, he had drifted back shamelessly where, social
outcast as he was, he remained still a Jacobus--one of the oldest
families on the island, older than the French even. There must
have been a Jacobus in at the death of the last Dodo. . . . The