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The blacksmith touched his forelock to Christian, and saluted Maimiti as though she had been an English lady. “Might I speak with ye a moment, sir?” he asked.

“Yes. What is it, Williams? Do you wish to see me alone?”

“Aye.”

The blacksmith remained standing, after the girl had gone, and hesitated for some time before he spoke.

“I doubt but ye’ll think the less of me for what I have to say, but I must out with it. Men are fashioned in different ways—some hot, some cold, some wise, some fools. I reckon ye’ll admit I’m no laggard and know my trade; but I’ve a weakness for the women, if weakness that be. ... It’s this, sir: I’ve lost my girl, and must have another.”

He waited, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. Christian reflected for a moment and said, slowly: “I foresaw this. It was bound to come. I don’t blame you, Williams; your desire is a reasonable one. But surely you can see that no man is likely to give up his woman to you. What I propose might seem abhorrent at home, but the arrangement was an honourable one in ancient times. Have you no friend who would share his girl with you?”