I did not see much romance, but I saw plenty that was half-barbaric." Here she laughed slightly.
Just then I saw the lights of a vessel far off.

"See--a vessel!" I said; and I watched the lights in silence, but thinking.

I saw that she too was watching idly.
At length, as if continuing the conversation, I said: "Yes, I suppose life must be somewhat adventurous and dangerous among savage people like the Samoans, Tongans, and Fijians ?" "Indeed, then," she replied decisively, "you are not to suppose anything of the kind.

The danger is not alone for the white people." At this I appeared, as I really was, interested, and begged her to explain what she meant.

She thought a moment, and then briefly, but clearly, sketched the life of those islands, showing how, in spite of missionary labour selfish and unselfish, the native became the victim of civilisation, the prey of the white trader and beachcomber, who were protected by men-of-war with convincing Nordenfeldt and Hotchkiss guns; how the stalwart force of barbaric existence declined, and with it the crude sense of justice, the practice of communism at its simplest and purest, the valour of nationality.