“I will call on you to-morrow, my man,” she said significantly, and walked at a leisurely rate through the door to the grave street without, where the quick evening was already giving place to night.

The sky overhead was deep blue and clear, powdered with a multitude of stars, and over the sea to the east a crescent of moon floated low.  The night was fresh, but not cold.  Miss Gregory, pacing tranquilly along the cobbled street, found it agreeable after the sterile heat of the afternoon.  A faint breeze stirred the acacias which were planted along the middle of the way, and they murmured secretly.  The prospect of a night without shelter did not greatly disturb her; she was already conscious that when she came to look back on it, it would take a high rank among her experiences.

A turning brought her to the Praca, the little square of the town, its heart and centre.  Here there were lights, the signal that the place had waked up for the evening.  Two or three low-browed cafes abutted on the pavement, each lively with folk who drank and talked; the open doors of a church showed an interior faintly luminous with candles; and men and a few women stood about in groups or moved here and there at their ease.  With her deliberate step, Miss Gregory passed among them, looking about her with the ready interest of the old traveler who sees without criticizing.  There was a flavor in the place and its people that struck her like something pungent; they had individuality; they belonged to each other.  There was a sinister character in the faces and bearing of the men, a formidable directness in the women; not one but had the air of carrying a hidden weapon.  It was the commonplace evening population of an East African town which has never lived down the traditions of its pirate-founders, and Miss Gregory marked its fine picturesqueness with appreciation.  Every one turned to look at her as she passed; she, clean, sane, assured, with her little air of good-breeding, was no less novel to them than they to her.  A thin dark woman, with arms and breasts bare, took a quick step forward to look into her face; Miss Gregory paused in her walk to return the scrutiny.  The woman’s wide lips curled in a sudden laughter; Miss Gregory smiled patronizingly, nodded to her and passed on.

She made a tour of the square, and even explored the mouth of a dark lane that led out of it.  But it seemed to lead nowhere; it was a mere burrow between high silent houses, twisting abruptly among them with no purpose of direction, and she turned back to the lights.  She was conscious by now that she had been on her feet since early in the afternoon, and she crossed to one of the cafes, where a tinkling band added its allurements to the yellow lights, and sat down at a small table.  With one accord the customers at the place turned to look at her.  A barefoot waiter received her order for coffee; she found herself a cigarette, lit it and looked about her.  The