“What a beautiful place!” murmured Iris.  “I wonder what it is called.”

“Limbo.”

The word came instantly.  The sailor’s gaze was again fixed on those distant blue outlines.  Miss Deane was dissatisfied.

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed.  “We are not dead yet.  You must find a better name than that.”

“Well, suppose we christen it Rainbow Island?”

“Why ’Rainbow’?”

“That is the English meaning of ‘Iris,’ in Latin, you know.”

“So it is.  How clever of you to think of it!  Tell me, what is the meaning of ‘Robert,’ in Greek?”

He turned to survey the north-west side of the island.  “I do not know,” he answered.  “It might not be far-fetched to translate it as ’a ship’s steward:  a menial.’”

Miss Iris had meant her playful retort as a mere light-hearted quibble.  It annoyed her, a young person of much consequence, to have her kindly condescension repelled.

“I suppose so,” she agreed; “but I have gone through so much in a few hours that I am bewildered, apt to forget these nice distinctions.”

Where these two quareling, or flirting?  Who can tell?

Jenks was closely examining the reef on which the Sirdar struck.  Some square objects were visible near the palm tree.  The sun, glinting on the waves, rendered it difficult to discern their significance.

“What do you make of those?” he inquired, handing the glasses, and blandly ignoring Miss Deane’s petulance.  Her brain was busy with other things while she twisted the binoculars to suit her vision.  Rainbow Island—­Iris—­it was a nice conceit.  But “menial” struck a discordant note.  This man was no menial in appearance or speech.  Why was he so deliberately rude?

“I think they are boxes or packing-cases,” she announced.

“Ah, that was my own idea.  I must visit that locality.”

“How?  Will you swim?”

“No,” he said, his stern lips relaxing in a smile, “I will not swim; and by the way, Miss Deane, be careful when you are near the water.  The lagoon is swarming with sharks at present.  I feel tolerably assured that at low tide, when the remnants of the gale have vanished, I will be able to walk there along the reef.”

“Sharks!” she cried.  “In there!  What horrible surprises this speck of land contains!  I should not have imagined that sharks and seals could live together.”

“You are quite right,” he explained, with becoming gravity.  “As a rule sharks infest only the leeward side of these islands.  Just now they are attracted in shoals by the wreck.”

“Oh.”  Iris shivered slightly.

“We had better go back now.  The wind is keen here, Miss Deane.”

[Illustration:  HE WAS SO BUSY THAT HE PAID LITTLE HEED TO IRIS, BUT THE ODOR OF FRIED HAM WAS WAFTED TO HIM]

She knew that he purposely misunderstood her gesture.  His attitude conveyed a rebuke.  There was no further room for sentiment in their present existence; they had to deal with chill necessities.  As for the sailor, he was glad that the chance turn of their conversation enabled him to warn her against the lurking dangers of the lagoon.  There was no need to mention the devil-fish now; he must spare her all avoidable thrills.