After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice. The police are concerned in it in either event. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase.
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