I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort.
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