And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said.
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