Jenks swallowed a large piece of ham and became very red.  At last he managed to say—­“I beg your pardon.  You are thinking of tortoise-shell. Beche-de-mer is a sort of marine slug.”

“How odd!” said Iris.

She had discovered at an early age the tactical value of this remark, and the experience of maturer years confirmed the success of juvenile efforts to upset the equanimity of governesses.  Even the sailor was silenced.

Talk ceased until the meal was ended.  Jenks sprang lightly to his feet.  Rest and food had restored his faculties.  The girl thought dreamily, as he stood there in his rough attire, that she had never seen a finer man.  He was tall, sinewy, and well formed.  In repose his face was pleasant, if masterful.  Its somewhat sullen, self-contained expression was occasional and acquired.  She wondered how he could be so energetic.  Personally she was consumed with sleepiness.

He produced a revolver.

“Do you mind if I fire a shot to test these cartridges?” he inquired.  “The powder is all right, but the fulminate in the caps may be damaged.”

She agreed promptly.  He pointed the weapon at a cluster of cocoanuts, and there was a loud report.  Two nuts fell to the ground, and the air was filled with shrill screams and the flapping of innumerable wings.  Iris was momentarily dismayed, but her senses confirmed the sailor’s explanation—­“Sea-birds.”

He reloaded the empty chamber, and was about to say something, when a queer sound, exactly resembling the gurgling of water poured from a large bottle, fell upon their ears.  It came from the interior of the grove, and the two exchanged a quick look of amazed questioning.  Jenks took a hasty step in the direction of the noise, but he stopped and laughed at his own expense.  Iris liked the sound of his mirth.  It was genuine, not forced.

“I remember now,” he explained.  “The wou-wou monkey cries in that peculiar warble.  The presence of the animal here shows that the island has been inhabited at some time.”

“You remember?” repeated the girl.  “Then you have been in this part of the world before?”

“No.  I mean I have read about it.”

Twice in half an hour had he curtly declined to indulge in personal reminiscences.

“Can you use a revolver?” he went on.

“My father taught me.  He thinks every woman should know how to defend herself if need be.”

“Excellent.  Well, Miss Deane, you must try to sleep for a couple of hours.  I purpose examining the coast for some distance on each side.  Should you want me, a shot will be the best sort of signal.”

“I am very tired,” she admitted.  “But you?”

“Oh, I am all right.  I feel restless; that is, I mean I will not be able to sleep until night comes, and before we climb the hill to survey our domain I want to find better quarters than we now possess.”

Perhaps, were she less fatigued, she would have caught the vague anxiety, the note of distrust, in his voice.  But the carpet of sand and leaves on which she lay was very seductive.  Her eyes closed.  She nestled into a comfortable position, and slept.