Between these ladies and Mrs. Markham and Miss Keene existed an enthusiastic tolerance, which, however, could never be mistaken for a generous rivalry.  Of the greater popularity of Miss Keene as the recognized belle of the Excelsior there could be no question; nor was there any from Mrs. Brimmer and her friend.  The intellectual preeminence of Mrs. Markham was equally, and no less ostentatiously, granted.  “Mrs. Markham is so clever; I delight to hear you converse together,” Mrs. Brimmer would say to Senor Perkins, “though I’m sure I hardly dare talk to her myself.  She might easily go into the lecture-field—­perhaps she expects to do so in California.  My dear Clarissa”—­to Miss Chubb—­“don’t she remind you a little of Aunt Jane Winthrop’s governess, whom we came so near taking to Paris with us, but couldn’t on account of her defective French?”

When “The Excelsior Banner and South Sea Bubble” was published in lat. 15 N. and long. 105 W., to which Mrs. Markham contributed the editorials and essays, and Senor Perkins three columns of sentimental poetry, Mrs. Brimmer did not withhold her praise of the fair editor.  When the Excelsior “Recrossed the Line,” with a suitable tableau vivant and pageant, and Miss Keene as California, in white and blue, welcomed from the hands of Neptune (Senor Perkins) and Amphitrite (Mrs. Markham) her fair sister, Massachusetts (Mrs. Brimmer), and New York (Miss Chubb), Mrs. Brimmer was most enthusiastic of the beauty of Miss Keene.

On the present morning Mr. Banks found his disappointment at not going into Mazatlan languidly shared by Mrs. Brimmer.  That lady even made a place for him on the cushions beside her, as she pensively expressed her belief that her husband would be still more disappointed.

“Mr. Brimmer, you know, has correspondents at Mazatlan, and no doubt he has made particular arrangements for our reception and entertainment while there.  I should not wonder if he was very indignant.  And if, as I fear, the officials of the place, knowing Mr. Brimmer’s position—­and my own connections—­have prepared to show us social courtesies, it may be a graver affair.  I shouldn’t be surprised if our Government were obliged to take notice of it.  There is a Captain-General of port—­isn’t there?  I think my husband spoke of him.”

“Oh, he’s probably been shot long ago,” broke in Mr. Crosby cheerfully.  “They put in a new man every revolution.  If the wrong party’s got in, they’ve likely shipped your husband’s correspondent too, and might be waiting to get a reception for you with nigger soldiers and ball cartridges.  Shouldn’t wonder if the skipper got wind of something of the kind, and that’s why he didn’t put in.  If your husband hadn’t been so well known, you see, we might have slipped in all right.”

Mrs. Brimmer received this speech with the languid obliviousness of perception she usually meted out to this chartered jester.

“Do you really think so, Mr. Crosby?  And would you have been afraid to leave your cabin—­or are you joking?  You know I never know when you are.  It is very dreadful, either way.”