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their clothes (what there was of them) wore out, too, and there was no end of a fuss about that. They made themselves new ones out of bark and things, and in consequence did nothing but chatter about fashions all day and half the night. There used to be fearful ructions (and lady-like ructions are the worst possible kind) if Opera Top turned up one morning in a bark gown copied from the model of the one High Neck had made the day before. The way they would be gushingly rude to one another would have been funny to any one not having to live with them. Constance’sclothes and my shirt wore in no time, naturally, and we never had a moment to make ourselves new ones. We didn’t need them in that climate, but there was trouble over that, too. They used to talk to each other in audible asides about the indelicacy of it, and they averted their eyes from us. Yet for all that at mealtimes they always managed to get the fattest oysters and the least burned chunks of bread-fruit. Not by unmannerly grabbing, of course, but by sheer polite woman’s tact.
    In the end came the inevitable row. Constance took my part against the women, and they stayed calm and polite until Constance lost her temper. I have never met any one with their capacity for being rude while maintaining all the appearance of being exquisitely ladylike.
    â€œI’ll be blowed if I stay on this blessed island another minute,” said Constance.
    â€œBut dear Mrs. Trevor, I don’t see what else you can do,” gushed Opera Top.
    Constance had her there. “Don’t you? Well, there’s the other island not a mile away. If I can’t swim a mile in this warm water to get away from you cats I hope I drown on the way. Come along, dear.”
    And off we went.
    The other atoll was just as good as the first, but a bit smaller. Constance and I managed beautifully on it. We lazed the days away, eating all the oysters and cocoanuts we wanted, with nothing much to do and all the day to do it in. It was a pleasant life. At times I used to wonder how the others were getting on, and wondering if having to shift for themselves was making any difference to them, but when I found myself thinking I just used to turn over to toast the other side of me in the sun and reach out for another oyster.
    I don’t know how long we were like that. Time didn’t matter very much to us. I know that during that time I grew a lovely long mustache and beard. Beautiful ones.
    (“There wasn’t a third island I could go to, was there?” asked Constance. “I wouldn’t share an island with a beard for anything.”)
    We drowsed and dreamed along for years, possibly. Years of unlimited oysters. It was just like Heaven.
    And then early one morning as Constance and I were asleep, or perhaps only dozing, on the beach, wewere awakened by a sudden rush of feet. We started up, and saw, hurrying toward us, a gang of naked savages. Before we could do anything they were upon us, and they had us tied hand and foot. By that time I was sufficiently awake to look at them more closely. They were savage enough, and naked enough, in all conscience. One or two of them carried unpleasant-looking knotted clubs, and the rest had sharp spiky spears made of stick hardened and pointed in the fire. Very doubtful characters, obviously. Yet they were all women. Not a doubt about that, anyway. The fact leaped to the eyes.
    The leader came over to me and poked me with her spear in a highly uncomfortable manner.
    â€œGet up,” she said.
    It was the fact that an Indian Ocean savage spoke English that got me to my feet as much as the poke from the spear. Bound as I was, I was in a vertical position in one-fifth of a second. I looked at my captor more closely.
    â€œGreat Scott!” I said. “It’s Opera Top.”
    â€œYou’re right,” said she.
    I looked round at the others. I recognized them all,Low Neck, Envelope Chemise and the rest. A year or two