"Eh?" said the major. "No, I don't! I refuse to believe that a woman of Mrs. Haltren's sense and personal dignity could be upset by such a man! By gad! sir, if I thought it--for one instant, sir--for one second--I'd reason with her. I'd presume so far as to express my personal opinion of this fellow Haltren!" "Perhaps I'd better speak to her," began Darrow. "No, sir! Why the devil should you assume that liberty?" demanded Major Brent. "Allow me, sir; allow me! Mrs. Haltren is my guest!" The major's long-latent jealousy of Darrow was now fully ablaze; purple, pop-eyed, and puffing, he toddled down the companion on his errand of consolation. Darrow watched him go. "That settles him!" he said. Then he called the engineer over and bade him rig up and launch the portable canoe. "Put one paddle in it, Johnson, and say to Mrs. Haltren that she had better paddle north, because a mile below there is a camp belonging to a man whom Major Brent and I do not wish to have her meet." The grimy engineer hauled out the packet which, when put together, was warranted to become a full-fledged canoe. "Lord! how she'll hate us all, even poor Johnson," murmured Darrow. "I don't know much about Kathleen Haltren, but if she doesn't paddle south I'll eat cotton-waste with oil-dressing for dinner!" At that moment the major reappeared, toddling excitedly towards the stern. "What on earth is the trouble?" asked Darrow. "Is there a pizen sarpint aboard?" "Trouble!" stammered the major. "Who said there was any trouble? Don't be an ass, sir! Don't even look like an ass, sir! Damnation!" And he trotted furiously into the engine-room. Darrow climbed to the wheel-house once more, fished out a pair of binoculars, and fixed them on the inlet and the strip of Atlantic beyond. "If the _Dione_ isn't in by three o'clock, Haltren will have his chance," he murmured. He was still inspecting the ocean and his watch alternately when Mrs. Haltren came on deck. "Did you send me the canoe?" she asked, with cool unconcern. "It's for anybody," he said, morosely. "Somebody ought to take a snap-shot of the scene of our disaster. If you don't want the canoe, I'll take it." She had her camera in her hand; it was possible he had noticed it, although he appeared to be very busy with his binoculars. He was also rude enough to turn his back. She hesitated, looked up the lagoon and down the lagoon. She could only see half a mile south, because Flyover Point blocked the view. "If Mrs. Castle is nervous you will be near the cabin?" she asked, coldly. "I'll be here," he said. "And you may say to Major Brent," she added, "that he need not send me further orders by his engineer, and that I shall paddle wherever caprice invites me."