the harbor of Nagasaki. Not a word since that
first interview had been said of his cargo; nor even of the treaty,
although nothing could have been more natural than the discussion of
details. Whenever he had delicately broached either subject, he had
been met with a polite indifference, that had little in common with the
cordiality otherwise shown him. He foresaw that he might be obliged to
reveal the more pressing object of his visit without further diplomacy,
and the thought irritated him beyond endurance.

Whether Concha were giving him her promised aid he had no means of
discovering, and herein lay another cause of his general vexation. He
had dined every day at the Commandante's, danced there every night.
Concha had been vivacious, friendly--impersonal. Not so much as a
coquettish lift of the brow betrayed that the distinguished stranger
eclipsed the caballeros for the moment; nor a whispered word that he
retained the friendship she had offered him on the day of their
meeting. He had not, indeed, had a word with her alone. But his
interest and admiration had deepened. It was evident that her father
and the Governor adored her, would deny her little. Her attitude to
them was alternately that of the petted child and the chosen companion.
As her mother was indisposed, she occupied her place at the table,
presiding with dignity, guiding the conversation, revealing the rare
gift of making everyone appear at his best. In the evening she had
sometimes danced alone for a few moments, but more often with her
Russian guests, and readily learning the English country dances they
were anxious to teach. Rezanov would have found the gay informality of
these evenings delightful had his mind been at ease about his Sitkans,
and Concha a trifle more personal. He had begun by suspecting that she
was maneuvering for his scalp, but he was forced to acquit her; for not
only did she show no provocative favor to another, but she seemed to
have gained in dignity and pride since his arrival, actually to have
kissed her hand in farewell to the childhood he had been so slow in
divining; grown--he felt rather than analyzed--above the pettiness of
coquetry. Once more she had stirred the dormant ideals of his early
manhood; there were moments when she floated before his inner vision as
the embodiment of the world's beauty. Nor ever had there been a woman
born more elaborately equipped for the position of a public man's mate;
nor more