“Miss an entree!” Miss Mallory exclaimed.  “I could live a week on pickles and lettuce-leaves, to stay at sea in such weather!”

“Astonishingly fine sailor is Miss Mallory,” the Spaniard enthused.  “She talked ship with me like a pirate, and knew my Savonarola from boom to steering gear at a glance.  You all must thank Miss Mallory for our little excursion to-night.”

The lady in question wondered if the forecastle-door were proof against the voices in the cabin.  She did not turn her eyes to it, but happened to note that the Spaniard caught a glance from Jim Framtree, as he spoke his last words; also that Framtree arose, looked aft from the cabin doorway, and turned back with a smile.  Miss Mallory followed his eyes a moment later and discovered that Dictator Jaffier’s gunboat had moved.  Steam was up; her nose was pointed their way; more still, she was leisurely trailing!  Senor Rey did not miss the American woman’s interest.

“The Dictator is always so good about giving the Savonarola armed convoy,” he said.

Miss Mallory became deeply thoughtful, but roused herself, realizing it did not become her in this company.  She imagined that the great yellow eyes of the Glow-worm were regarding her with queer contemplative scrutiny.  Sorenson felt the call to remark something, and the Savonarola was obvious.

“Fine little craft for a honeymoon,” he observed, “that is, of course, if the lady in question enjoyed sailing.  It’s amusing to picture some women on a sailing-trip——­”

“And some men on a honeymoon,” added Miss Mallory.

This delighted Framtree....  Sorenson was rather a ponderous Slav with languages.  He was not accustomed to conserve his thirst until dinner-time.  Indeed, he had brought aboard on this occasion an appreciation for sparkling refreshments, that had been assiduously cultivated during the long day.  Already Sorenson had endangered his domestic peace, through attentions, delicate as you would expect from a bear that walked like a man.  These were directed toward the American woman.  She broke every shaft with unfailing humor, and girded her repugnance as added strength for the End.  There were moments she did not relish.  Strain settled with the darkening day.  She thought of the face she had seen at her carriage at noon—­a tortured face—­and what he had passed through since, cramped in the forecastle!  Perhaps he was unconscious from the heat and the suffocating place—­and from the illness she could never understand....  But in Miss Mallory all these thoughts and conditions drew upon as perfect a nervous organization as could be found anywhere in these complicated days—­and it was over at last.