One rather absurd incident took place. There were a number of
harlots in the tavern: some were sitting with men, others by
themselves; and presently I noticed that one of these was
looking at us. When she caught Strickland's eye she smiled.
I do not think he saw her. In a little while she went out,
but in a minute returned and, passing our table, very politely
asked us to buy her something to drink. She sat down and I
began to chat with her; but, it was plain that her interest
was in Strickland. I explained that he knew no more than two
words of French. She tried to talk to him, partly by signs,
partly in pidgin French, which, for some reason, she thought
would be more comprehensible to him, and she had half a dozen
phrases of English. She made me translate what she could only
express in her own tongue, and eagerly asked for the meaning
of his replies. He was quite good-tempered, a little amused,
but his indifference was obvious.
"I think you've made a conquest," I laughed.
"I'm not flattered."
In his place I should have been more embarrassed and less calm.
She had laughing eyes and a most charming mouth.
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