“I will do so—­” said I.

“And you can also tell her,” she continued, “that Liosha Prescott is not going to let herself be made a fool of by a man who’s crazy mad over another woman.  No, sirree!  Not this child.  Not me.  And as for the proprieties”—­she snapped her fingers—­“they be—­they be anything’d!”

To this frank exposition of her feelings I could say nothing.  I drank the remainder of my absinthe and lit a cigarette.  I fell back on the manifest lunacy of the Madagascar voyage.  I urged, somewhat anti-climatically after my impassioned harangue, its discomfort.

“You’ll be the fifth wheel to a coach.  Your petticoats, my dear, will always be in the way.”

“I needn’t wear petticoats,” said Liosha.

We argued until a red, grinning Jaffery, beaming like the fiery sun now about to set, appeared winding his way through the tables, followed by the black-bearded, grey-eyed sea captain.

“It’s all fixed up,” said he, taking his seat.  “The Cap’en understands the whole position.  If you want to come to ’Jerusalem and Madagascar and North and South Amerikee,’ come.”

“But this is midsummer madness,” said I.

“Suppose it is, what matter?” He waved a great hand and fortuitously caught a waiter by the arm. “Meme chose pour tout le monde.”  He flicked him away.  “Now, this is business.  Will you come and rough it?  The Vesta isn’t a Cunard Liner.  Not even a passenger boat.  No luxuries.  I hope you understand.”

“Hilary has been telling me just what I’m to expect,” said Liosha.

“We’ll do our best for you, ma’am,” said Captain Maturin; “but you mustn’t expect too much.  I suppose you know you’ll have to sign on as one of the crew?”

“And if you disobey orders,” said I, “the Captain can tie you up to the binnacle, and give you forty lashes and put you in irons.”

“I guess I’ll be obedient, Captain,” said Liosha, proud of her incredulity.

“I don’t allow my ship’s company to bring many trunks and portmanteaux aboard,” smiled Captain Maturin.

“I’ll see to the dunnage,” said Jaffery.

“The what?” I asked.

“It’s only passengers that have luggage.  Sailor folk like Liosha and me have dunnage.”

“I see,” said I.  “And you bring it on board in a bundle together with a parrot in a cage.”

Earnest persuasion being of no avail, I must have recourse to light mockery.  But it met with little response.  “And what,” I asked, “is to become of the forty-odd colis that we passed through the customs this morning?”

“You can take ’em home with you,” said Jaffery.  He grinned over his third foaming beaker of dark beer.  “Isn’t it a blessing I brought him along?  I told him he’d come in useful.”

“But, good Lord!” I protested, aghast, “what excuse can I, a lone man, give to the Southampton customs for the possession of all this baggage?  They’ll think I’ve murdered my wife on the voyage and I shall be arrested.  No.  There is the parcel post.  There are agencies of expedition.  We can forward the luggage by grande vitesse or petite vitesse—­how long are you likely to be away on this Theophile Gautier voyage—­’Cueillir la fleur de neige.  Ou la fleur d’Angsoka’?”