Peter with his winning smile.

"But there are sharks in there." This in a voice of gentle reproof.

"I hope they eat him alive," said Peter, unabashed.

"You threw him overboard just because you wanted to. And if you want
to, I'll go next, I suppose."

"You might," laughed Peter. "When I have these spells I simply grab
the nearest person and over he goes. It is a terrible habit, isn't it?"

"Perhaps he insulted you."

"Or threatened me."

"Ah!" Her sigh expressed that she understood everything. "May I ask:
Who are you?"

"I? Peter Moore."

"I mean, your uniform. You are one of the ship's officers, are you
not?"

"The wireless operator. Shall we consider ourselves properly
introduced?"

"My name is Romola Borria. I presume you are an American--or British."

"American," informed Peter. "And you? Spanish _senorita_?"

"I have no nationality," she replied easily. "I am what we call in
China, a 'B. I. C.'"

"Born in China!"

"Born in Canton, China. Father: Portuguese; mother: Australian.
Answer: What am I?" She laughed deliciously, and Peter was moved.

They lingered long enough to see the coolie drag himself up on the
shore unassisted, and then separated, the girl to make ready for lunch
and to request the steward to assign them to adjoining seats at the
same table, and Peter to take a look at the register, the crew, and
what passengers might be on deck.

The passengers, lounging in steamer-chairs awaiting the call to tiffin,
and the deck crew, strapping down the forward cargo booms and battening
the forward hatch, Peter gave a careful inspection, retaining their
images in an eye that was rapidly being trained along photographic
lines.

It was a comparatively simple matter, Peter found, to remember peoples'
faces; the important point being to select some striking feature of the
countenance, and then persistently drive this feature home in his
memory. He knew that the human memory is a perverse organ, much
preferring to forget and lose than to retain.

So he looked over the crew and found them to be quite Dutch and quite
self-satisfied, with no more than a slight but polite interest in him
and his presence. Wireless operators, as a rule, are self-effacing
individuals who inhabit dark cabins and have very little to say.

He called at the purser's office and helped himself to the register,
finding the name of Romola Borria in full, impulsive handwriting,
giving her address as Hong K