Mrs.Ambrose would have found it very dull.

As it was, she had her embroidery frame set up on deck, with a little table by her side on which lay open a black volume of philosophy.

She chose a thread from the vari-coloured tangle that lay in her lap, and sewed red into the bark of a tree, or yellow into the river torrent.

She was working at a great design of a tropical river running through a tropical forest, where spotted deer would eventually browse upon masses of fruit, bananas, oranges, and giant pomegranates, while a troop of naked natives whirled darts into the air.
Between the stitches she looked to one side and read a sentence about the Reality of Matter, or the Nature of Good.

Round her men in blue jerseys knelt and scrubbed the boards, or leant over the rails and whistled, and not far off Mr.Pepper sat cutting up roots with a penknife.