avits, the anchor up, and we were under way. Poor captain!
Within a week he became used to Le Mire's sudden whims.

At San Diego we went ashore. Le Mire took a fancy to some Indian
blankets, and Harry bought them for her; but when she expressed an
intention to take an Indian girl--about sixteen or seventeen years
old--aboard the yacht as a "companion," I interposed a firm negative.
And, after all, she nearly had her way.

For a month it was "just one port after another." Mazatlan, San Bias,
Manzanillo, San Salvador, Panama City--at each of these we touched, and
visited sometimes an hour, sometimes two or three days. Le Mire was
loading the yacht with all sorts of curious relics. Ugly or beautiful,
useful or worthless, genuine or faked, it mattered not to her; if a
thing suited her fancy she wanted it--and got it.

At Guayaquil occurred the first collision of wills. It was our second
evening in port. We were dining on the deck of the yacht, with half a
dozen South American generals and admirals as guests.

Toward the end of the dinner Le Mire suddenly became silent and
remained for some minutes lost in thought; then, suddenly, she turned
to the bundle of gold lace at her side with a question:

"Where is Guayaquil?"

He stared at her in amazement.

"It is there, senora," he said finally, pointing to the shore lined
with twinkling lights.

"I know, I know," said Le Mire impatiently; "but where is it? In what
country?"

The poor fellow, too surprised to be offended, stammered the name of
his native land between gasps, while Harry and I had all we could do to
keep from bursting into laughter.

"Ah," said Desiree in the tone of one who has made an important
discovery, "I thought so. Ecuador. Monsieur, Quito is in Ecuador."

The general--or admiral, I forget which--acknowledged the correctness
of her geography with a profound bow.

"But yes. I have often heard of Quito, monsieur. It is a very
interesting place. I shall go to Quito."

There ensued immediately a babel. Each of our guests insisted on the
honor of accompanying us inland, and the thing would most assuredly
have ended in a bloody quarrel on the captain's polished deck, if I had
not interposed in a firm tone:

"But, gentlemen, we are not going to Quito."

Le Mire looked at me--and such a look! Then she said in a tone of the
utmost finality:

"I am going to Quito."

I shook my head, smiling at her, whereupon she became furious.

"