gain away, sailing lazily eastward before a
light breeze. Three days of this inert weather, or possibly less, should
bring us to Miami. There Monsieur had expressed his intention of wiring
the Roumanian, or some other, consul; then he would entrain with my
little Princess, and--well, that would be the end.

All that day we poked along. Surreptitiously I had sent several notes
down by Bilkins, but the only reply they got was an angry negative shake
of Echochee's head. The old Indian would divulge nothing beyond the fact
that her Lady was well. I then thought of knocking at Doloria's door to
get a word with her, but the professor, always in the cabin on guard,
sat where he could frustrate any such plan. He had stayed there the
previous night until a late hour, and was back at his post quite an hour
before breakfast.

She did not appear at luncheon, nor during the long and wearisome
afternoon.

The next day was a counterpart of its forerunner, except that it got
more on my nerves. I had pegged through it in the hope that she might at
least dine with us--for this was to be our last dinner on the _Whim_,
Gates saying we would land about the following noon. But, happening upon
Echochee and asking her this, she almost snapped my head off in saying
that her mistress had no such intention.

Growing more desperate as the afternoon waned, I tried again to approach
Doloria's stateroom from the far end of the passageway, but Monsieur,
glancing over his book, arose and came toward me. The expression in his
face plainly said that if I attempted to force him aside he would
command her to keep her door locked--and I knew that she would obey.
Therefore, ready to abandon hope, I wandered up and sought a secluded
place along the rail where, unobserved by steersman and forward watch, I
could swear a little, and look more glum, and feel quite natural. It
was here that Tommy passed me on his way to the cabin.

"Time for dinner," he said, stopping and laying down something that had
been under his arm.

"Don't want any dinner," I growled.

His face, for the first time in three days, broke into a beatific smile,
and for a moment I was disposed to punch it, thinking, of course, that
he meant to guy me. But he saw this intention and sprang back, holding
his palms outward in an attitude of alert protest; yet the smile
continued, now to be followed by a low, pleased laugh.

"Don't get mad," he gurgled. "I'm not laughing at you--only at thin