ur good hostess is a woman of discrimination, and sorely perplexed,
therefore, over her _protegee_," said Keith, as the two young men
sought their room, a loft under the peaked roof, which was to be their
abode for some weeks, when they were not afloat. "As a nurse she feels
a professional pride in curing, while as a Calvinist she would almost
rather kill than cure, if her patient is to go back to the popish
convent. But the little Sister looks very fragile. She will probably
save trouble all round by fading away."

"She is about as faded now as a woman can be," answered Carrington.

The two friends, or rather companions, plunged into all the phases of
the southern ocean with a broad, inhaling, expanding delight which only
a superb natural or an exquisitely cultured physique can feel. George
Carrington was a vigorous young Saxon, tall and broad to a remarkable
degree, feeling his life and strength in every vein and muscle. Each
night he slept his eight hours dreamlessly, like a child, and each day
he lived four hours in one, counting by the pallid hours of other men.
Andrew Keith, on the other hand, represented the physique cultured and
trained up to a high point by years of attention and care. He was a
slight man, rather undersized, but his wiry strength was more than a
match for Carrington's bulk, and his finely cut face, if you would but
study it, stood out like a cameo by the side of a ruddy miniature
painted in oils. The trouble is that but few people study cameos. He
was older than his companion, and "One of those quiet fellows, you
know," said the world. The two had never done or been anything
remarkable in all their lives. Keith had a little money, and lived as
he pleased, while Carrington, off now on a vacation, was junior member
of a firm in which family influence had placed him. Both were city men.

"You absolutely do not know how to walk, senora," said Keith. "I will
be doctor now, and you must obey me. Never mind the crabs, and never
mind the jelly fish, but throw back your head and walk off briskly. Let
the wind blow in your face, and try to stand more erect."

"You are doctor? They told me, could I but see one, well would I be,"
said the Sister. "At the convent we have only Sister Inez, with her
small and old medicines."

"Yes, I think I may call myself doctor," answered Keith gravely. "What
do you say, Carrington?"

"Knows no end, Miss, Miss--Miss Luke--I should say, Miss St. Luke. I am
sure I do n