have
only heard about. She has been as near death as I am to you--and what is
all that to any of you here?"

"That child!" she said in slow wonder.

Immada turned upon Mrs. Travers her eyes black as coal, sparkling and
soft like a tropical night; and the glances of the two women, their
dissimilar and inquiring glances met, seemed to touch, clasp, hold each
other with the grip of an intimate contact. They separated.

"What are they come for? Why did you show them the way to this place?"
asked Immada, faintly.

Lingard shook his head in denial.

"Poor girl," said Mrs. Travers. "Are they all so pretty?"

"Who-all?" mumbled Lingard. "There isn't an other one like her if you
were to ransack the islands all round the compass."

"Edith!" ejaculated Mr. Travers in a remonstrating, acrimonious voice,
and everyone gave him a look of vague surprise.

Then Mrs. Travers asked:

"Who is she?"

Lingard very red and grave declared curtly:

"A princess."

Immediately he looked round with suspicion. No one smiled. D'Alcacer,
courteous and nonchalant, lounged up close to Mrs. Travers' elbow.

"If she is a princess, then this man is a knight," he murmured with
conviction. "A knight as I live! A descendant of the immortal hidalgo
errant upon the sea. It would be good for us to have him for a friend.
Seriously I think that you ought--"

The two stepped aside and spoke low and hurriedly.

"Yes, you ought--"

"How can I?" she interrupted, catching the meaning like a ball.

"By saying something."

"Is it really necessary?" she asked, doubtfully.

"It would do no harm," said d'Alcacer with sudden carelessness; "a
friend is always better than an enemy."

"Always?" she repeated, meaningly. "But what could I say?"

"Some words," he answered; "I should think any words in your voice--"

"Mr. d'Alcacer!"

"Or you could perhaps look at him once or twice as though he were not
exactly a robber," he continued.

"Mr. d'Alcacer, are you afraid?"

"Extremely," he said, stooping to pick up the fan at her feet. "That is
the reason I am so anxious to conciliate. And you must not forget that
one of your queens once stepped on the cloak of perhaps such a man."

Her eyes sparkled and she dropped them suddenly.

"I am not a queen," she said, coldly.

"Unfortunately not," he admitted; "but then the other was a woman with
no charm but her crown."

At that moment Lingard, to whom Hassim had been talking earnestly,
protested alou