The harassed Nelson shook his hand at him.  He was at bottom shocked at this insistence, and was even beginning to feel annoyed at the absurdity of it.

“Pooh!  Pooh!  I’ll tell you what, lieutenant:  you go to the house and have a drop of gin-and-bitters before dinner.  Ask for Freya.  I must see the last of this tobacco put away for the night, but I’ll be along presently.”

Heemskirk was not insensible to this suggestion.  It answered to his secret longing, which was not a longing for drink, however.  Old Nelson shouted solicitously after his broad back a recommendation to make himself comfortable, and that there was a box of cheroots on the verandah.

It was the west verandah that old Nelson meant, the one which was the living-room of the house, and had split-rattan screens of the very finest quality.  The east verandah, sacred to his own privacy, puffing out of cheeks, and other signs of perplexed thinking, was fitted with stout blinds of sailcloth.  The north verandah was not a verandah at all, really.  It was more like a long balcony.  It did not communicate with the other two, and could only be approached by a passage inside the house.  Thus it had a privacy which made it a convenient place for a maiden’s meditations without words, and also for the discourses, apparently without sense, which, passing between a young man and a maid, become pregnant with a diversity of transcendental meanings.

This north verandah was embowered with climbing plants.  Freya, whose room opened out on it, had furnished it as a sort of boudoir for herself, with a few cane chairs and a sofa of the same kind.  On this sofa she and Jasper sat as close together as is possible in this imperfect world where neither can a body be in two places at once nor yet two bodies can be in one place at the same time.  They had been sitting together all the afternoon, and I won’t say that their talk had been without sense.  Loving him with a little judicious anxiety lest in his elation he should break his heart over some mishap, Freya naturally would talk to him soberly.  He, nervous and brusque when away from her, appeared always as if overcome by her visibility, by the great wonder of being palpably loved.  An old man’s child, having lost his mother early, thrown out to sea out of the way while very young, he had not much experience of tenderness of any kind.

In this private, foliage-embowered verandah, and at this late hour of the afternoon, he bent down a little, and, possessing himself of Freya’s hands, was kissing them one after another, while she smiled and looked down at his head with the eyes of approving compassion.  At that same moment Heemskirk was approaching the house from the north.

Antonia was on the watch on that side.  But she did not keep a very good watch.  The sun was setting; she knew that her young mistress and the captain of the Bonito were about to separate.  She was walking to and fro in the dusky grove with a flower in her hair, and singing softly to herself, when suddenly, within a foot of her, the lieutenant appeared from behind a tree.  She bounded aside like a startled fawn, but Heemskirk, with a lucid comprehension of what she was there for, pounced upon her, and, catching her arm, clapped his other thick hand over her mouth.