“You won’t come, then?”—­and an unconscious look of relief brightened Mr. Harland’s features—­“And as Swinton doesn’t wish to join us, we shall be only a party of three—­Captain Derrick, myself and our little friend here.  We may as well be off.  Is the boat ready?”

We were informed that Mr. Santoris had sent his own boat and men to fetch us, and that they had been waiting for some few minutes.  We at once prepared to go, and while Mr. Harland was getting his overcoat and searching for his field-glasses, Dr. Brayle spoke to me in a low tone—­

“The truth of the matter is that Miss Harland has been greatly upset by the visit of Mr. Santoris and by some of the things he said last night.  She could not sleep, and was exceedingly troubled in her mind by the most distressing thoughts.  I am very glad she has decided not to see him again to-day.”

“Do you consider his influence harmful?” I queried, somewhat amused.

“I consider him not quite sane,”—­Dr. Brayle answered, coldly—­“And highly nervous persons like Miss Harland are best without the society of clever but wholly irresponsible theorists.”

The colour burned in my cheeks.

“You include me in that category, of course,”—­I said, quietly—­“For I said last night that if Mr. Santoris was mad, then I am too, for I hold the same views.”

He smiled a superior smile.

“There is no harm in you,”—­he answered, condescendingly—­“You may think what you like,—­you are only a woman.  Very clever—­very charming—­and full of the most delightful fancies,—­but weighted (fortunately) with the restrictions of your sex.  I mean no offence, I assure you,—­but a woman’s ‘views,’ whatever they are, are never accepted by rational beings.”

I laughed.

“I see!  And rational beings must always be men!” I said—­“You are quite certain of that?”

“In the fact that men ordain the world’s government and progress, you have your answer,”—­he replied.

“Alas, poor world!” I murmured—­“Sometimes it rebels against the ‘rationalism’ of its rulers!”

Just then Mr. Harland called me, and I hastened to join him and Captain Derrick.  The boat which was waiting for us was manned by four sailors who wore white jerseys trimmed with scarlet, bearing the name of the yacht to which they belonged—­the ‘Dream.’  These men were dark-skinned and dark-eyed,—­we took them at first for Portuguese or Malays, but they turned out to be from Egypt.  They saluted us, but did not speak, and as soon as we were seated, pulled swiftly away across the water.  Captain Derrick watched their movements with great interest and curiosity.

“Plenty of grit in those chaps,”—­he said, aside to Mr. Harland—­ “Look at their muscular arms!  I suppose they don’t speak a word of English.”

Mr. Harland thereupon tried one of them with a remark about the weather.  The man smiled—­and the sudden gleam of his white teeth gave a wonderful light and charm to his naturally grave cast of countenance.