, nor bad copies of French,
but her own daughters dressed in the height of local fashion, and Dom
Corria's earnest request had made them generous. The dark-eyed,
olive-complexioned women of Alagoas are often exceedingly beautiful,
but few of those present had ever seen a brown-haired, brown-eyed,
fair-faced Englishwoman. Iris was remarkably good-looking, even among
the pretty girls of her own county of Lancashire. Her large, limpid
eyes, well-molded nose, and perfectly formed mouth were the dominant
features of a face that had all the charm of youth and health. Her
smooth skin, brown with exposure to sun and air, glowed into a rich
crimson when she found herself in the midst of so many strangers. The
slightly delicate semblance induced by the hardships and loss of rest
which fell to her lot since the _Andromeda_ went to pieces on the
Grand-pere rock in no wise detracted from her appearance. She wore the
elegant costume of a Maceio belle with ease and distinction. If she
was flurried by the undisguised murmur of admiration that greeted her,
she did not show it beyond the first rush of color.

Dom Corria, dragging Schmidt with him, hurried to meet her. Surprise
at his gala attire helped to conquer her natural timidity, for the
President was gorgeous in blue and gold.

"My good wishes are soon changed into congratulations, Senhor," she
said.

"Ah, my dear young lady, I am overjoyed that you should be here to
witness my success," he cried. Then, as if he had waited for this
moment, he turned to the assembled company and delivered an eloquent
panegyric of the _Andromeda's_ crew and their _deusa deliciosa_--for
that is what he called Iris--a delightful goddess. He had made many
speeches already that day, but none was more heartfelt than this. His
eulogy was unstinted. Luckily for Iris, she was so conscious of the
attention she attracted that she kept her eyes steadfastly fixed on the
carpet. Otherwise, having a well-developed sense of humor, she must
have laughed outright had she seen Coke's face.

He, of course, understood no word that was said. But De Sylva's
animated gestures and flashing eyes were enough. Ever and anon, the
excitable citizens of Maceio would turn and gaze at one or other of the
three, while loud cries of "Bravo!" punctuated the President's oratory.
When Coke's turn came for these demonstrations, he tried to grin, but
was only able to scowl. For once in his stormy life he was nonplused.