“Yes, my dear Agatha, I have; a yacht and a ready-made crew, and the very prettiest saloon in the world, and sleeping-cabins that you will think it an honour to be sea-sick in, and a cook’s galley with bright copper fittings, and a cook with a white cap, and steam-steering gear if you care to use it, and——­”

“For goodness sake, don’t overwhelm us; and what are you going to do with your white elephant, now that you have got it?”

“Do with it? why, ride on it, of course.  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ or rather ‘lady and gentleman.’  Attention!  You will both be in marching, or rather in sailing, order by four this afternoon, for at five we start for the Canaries.  Now, no remarks; I’m a skipper, and I expect to be obeyed, or I’ll put you in irons.”

“You’ve done that already,” said Arthur, sotto voce.

“Mildred, I won’t go, and that’s flat.”

“My dear, you mean that you are afraid of being flat.  But, Agatha, seriously, you must come; nobody is sick in those semi-tropical waters, and, if you won’t, I suppose it would not be quite the thing for Arthur and I to go alone.  And then, my dear, just think what a splendid place the Canaries must be for insects.”

“Why?” asked Agatha, solemnly.

“Because of all the little birds it has to support.”

“But I thought they lived on hemp-seed.”

“Oh, no—­not in their native land.”

“Well, I suppose I must go; but I really believe that you will kill me with your mania for sea-voyages, Mildred.  I suppose you will take to ballooning next.”

“That is by no means a bad idea; I should like to see you in a balloon, Agatha.”

“Mildred, I know where to draw the line.  Into a balloon I will never go.  I have been into a Madeira sledge, and that is quite enough for me.  I always dream about it twice a week.”

“Well, my dear, I promise never to ask you when I want to go ballooning; Arthur and I will go by ourselves.  It would be a grand opportunity for a tete-a-tete.  And now go and see about getting the things ready—­there’s a dear; and, Arthur, do you send John down to Miles’ for your portmanteau.”

“Hadn’t I better go and see about it myself?”

“Certainly not; I want you to help me, and come down and talk to the skipper, for he will be under your orders, you know.  He is such a delightful sailor-man, perfect down to his quid, and always says, ’Ay, ay,’ in the orthodox fashion.  Certainly you must not go; I will not trust you out of my sight—­you might run away and leave me alone, and then what should I do?”

Arthur laughed and acquiesced.  Sitting down, he wrote a note asking the manager of the hotel to send his things up to the Quinta Carr, together with his account, as he was leaving Madeira for the present.

The rest of the morning was spent by everybody in busy preparation.  Boxes were packed and provisions shipped sufficient to victual an Arctic expedition.  At last everything was ready, and at a little after three they went down the steps leading to the tiny bay, and, embarking on the smart boat that was waiting for them, were conveyed in safety to the Evening Star, for such was the yacht’s name.  Arthur suggested that it should be changed to the Mildred Carr, and got snubbed for his pains.