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was the sort of girl of whom women say— ‘It is a pity she
has no mother”; and men, ‘It is a pity she does not get a
husband”; and who say to themselves, ‘When shall I have a
lover?’ There was no lack of beings of this latter class among
the officers quartered in Fort Royal and Fort Henry; but
the female population of the island was free and numerous,
and in the embarrassment of riches, Sarah was overlooked.
Though she adored the soldiery, her first lover was a civilian.
Walking one day on the cliff, she met a young man. He was
tall, well-looking, and well-dressed. His name was Lemoine;
he was the son of a somewhat wealthy resident of the island,
and had come down from London to recruit his health and
to see his friends. Sarah was struck by his appearance, and
looked back at him. He had been struck by hers, and looked
back also. He followed her, and spoke to her—some remark
about the wind or the weather— and she thought his voice
divine. They got into conversation—about scenery, lonely
walks, and the dullness of St. Heliers. ‘Did she often walk
there?’ ‘Sometimes.’ ‘Would she be there tomorrow?’ ‘She
might.’ Mr. Lemoine lifted his hat, and went back to dinner,
rather pleased with himself.
They met the next day, and the day after that. Lemoine
was not a gentleman, but he had lived among gentlemen,
and had caught something of their manner. He said that, af-
ter all, virtue was a mere name, and that when people were
powerful and rich, the world respected them more than
if they had been honest and poor. Sarah agreed with this
sentiment. Her grandfather was honest and poor, and yet
nobody respected him—at least, not with such respect as

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