Lovaina was a spendthrift, giving money liberally to relatives, lending it to improvident borrowers, and dispensing it with open hands when she had it, though always herself in debt.  Yet she liked to make money, and to have her hotel filled with tourists who patronized her little bar or drank at meals other wines than the excellent Bordeaux, white or red, which was free with food.  Most she loved the appearance of prosperity, the crowding of casual voyagers on steamer-days, the visit of war-ships, the sound of music in her parlor, the rustling of dancers, and the laughter and excitement when the maids were busied carrying champagne and cheaper drinks to the verandas.

I saw her at her best when El Presidente Sarmiento, an Argentine training-ship, came to port with a hundred cadets.  A madness then possessed the girls of Tahiti.

Forsaking their old loves or those of the moment, they threw themselves into the arms of the visitors, determined on conquest.  The quays where the launches of the Sarmiento landed their passengers, and the streets about the saloons, restaurants, and theaters, were thronged with the fairest and gayest girls of the island.  They poured in from the country to share in the lovemaking.  The cafes were filled with dancing and singing crowds, the volatile Argentineans matching the Tahitians in abandon and ardor.

Accordions, violins, guitars, and mandolins were played everywhere.  The scores of public automobiles were engaged by joyous parties who sallied to the rural resorts, each Juan with his vahine.  Mostly unable to exchange a word, they were kissing and embracing in their seats.  The ship had been there a year before, and many of the men were hunting former sweethearts.  They found that very difficult, as they had not accurate descriptions.

“A beauty named Atupu,” or “A black-eyed girl?” They had no aid among the girls they interrogated.

“Why bother with some one who may be dead when we are here?” they asked.  And Juan listened to the sirens and rested content.

At Lovaina’s there were seventy to dinner.  Captain and officers were cheek by jowl with gunners and plain sailors.  The veranda was jammed with tables, corks hitting the ceiling, glasses clinking, and Spanish, French, English, and Tahitian confused in the chatter and the shouts of To Sen, Hon Son, the maids, and a dozen friends of the hostess who always came at such times to share the glory of the service.

Lovaina was at the serving-table with volunteers cutting cakes and taking the money.  The parlor, with its red and blue plush chairs, was filled with Argentineans playing the piano and singing songs of their country.  Suddenly Lovaina discovered that some one had stolen the album of portraits from the piano-top.  These were of her family, and of notable visitors who had written grateful notes after their return home, and sent their pictures to her.  Professor Hart, teacher of English aboard the Sarmiento, was asked to find the thief, and he promised that he would have the ship searched.