stirred from my living-place. The bustle of the monthly steamship-day
died with the going of the Noa-Noa, the through passengers departing
in angry mood because their anticipated hula dance had been a
disappointment--wickedness shining feebly through cotton gowns when
they had expected nudity in a pas seul of abandonment. There was a
violent condemnation by the duped men of "unwarranted interference
by the French Government with natural and national expression."

Hogg, an American business traveler, said "The Barbary Coast in
Frisco had Tahiti skinned a mile for the real thing," and Stevens,
a London broker, that the dance was "bally tame for four bob."

Papeete, with the passing throng gone, was a quiet little town,
contrasting with the hours when the streets swarmed with people
from here and the suburbs, the band playing, the bars crowded, and
all efforts for gaiety and coquetry and the selling of souvenirs
and intoxicants. What exotic life there was beyond the clubs,
the waterfront, and the Asiatic quarter revolved around the Tiare,
and entirely so because of its proprietress, Lovaina. She was the
best-known and best-liked woman in all these South Seas, remembered
from Australia to the Paumotus, from London to China, wherever were
people who had visited Tahiti, as "dear old Lovaina."

She was very large. She was huge in every sense, weighing much
more than three hundred pounds, and yet there was a singular
grace in her form and her movements. Her limbs were of the girth of
breadfruit-trees, and her bosom was as broad and deep as that of the
great Juno of Rome, but her hands were beautiful, like a plump baby's,
with fascinating creases at the wrists, and long, tapering fingers. Her
large eyes were hazel, and they were very brilliant when she was merry