The girl seemed to divine the hesitancy in the midshipmen’s manner, and for a second a slight flush spread over her dark cheeks. Phil was the first to recover and break the embarrassing silence, heartily ashamed of himself for his boorish manner. “We are glad, señorita,” he commenced haltingly in Spanish which had become rusty through lack of practice, “to have you use our chairs, and also,” he ended lamely, “to have you with us. I fear we are the only passengers.” A few moments later a servant announced dinner, and the four took their seats at a table spread on the upper deck after the custom of the tropics. “The captain will not be with us,” the girl explained as Phil’s eyes rested inquiringly on the seat at the head of the table; “he begs that we will excuse him, for he is navigating the ship through the entrance to the bay.” They sat down in silence; Phil’s seat was next to this remarkable girl. In a few moments both lads had quite forgotten that her skin was dark, so skilfully did she preside over the plentiful board, attentive to their wants with the natural grace of one accustomed to dispense hospitality. “Juan and I are on our way to Palilo to join our father,” she explained after the meal had fairly started. “I am very much concerned over the bad news I have heard. Oh! I hope we shall not have war in our beautiful island,” she added appealingly, “but the Filipinos are so ignorant; they will follow blindly where they are led, and so many of our educated men are at heart bad.” “There has been some fighting there already?” Phil questioned. “Yes,” she answered, “but it has been only guerilla warfare so far. My father fears that reinforcements may come from the north. The natives in Luzon are of the Tagalo race, and if they come after being driven from their island by the American troops, we shall have the horrors of war on Kapay.” The midshipmen’s eyes sparkled; they were just about to express their delight at this possibility when they suddenly realized that she was of the same blood as those they were wishing to fight. Phil was the first to see the reproving look in the girl’s eyes. “You must not blame us, señorita,” he hastened to say apologetically. “You see fighting is our business; we look for it the same as a merchant looks for trade or a fisherman for fish.” “I think your ideas are wrong, señor,” she replied quickly, but in a caressing tone, to soften the sting. “Your duty is not necessarily to fight, but to prevent fighting. The sisters in the convent taught us that a soldier’s duty was to uphold the honor of his country. If fighting only will accomplish this duty, then it is just to fight, but in this case no honor is at stake. How can our people hurt the honor of a great nation like yours?” Phil blushed half angrily, half in shame. This girl of a dark race had the temerity to tell him what was his duty, and he was defenseless, for she was in the right.