The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance.
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