“Let me see. You are in search of the places visited by St Paul, are you not? Well, you know, there is the other Malta--the other Melita, I mean--up somewhere in the Adriatic, off the Austrian coast.” Caerleon spoke from a somewhat hazy recollection of long-past discussions which had enlivened various Greek Testament classes in his college days. “I believe the theory that it is the real Melita is quite exploded, but you are not bound to concur with the critics without seeing the place for yourself. It would be fairly new ground, and you could touch at the Ionian Islands on the way.” “Excellent!” cried the Princess, clapping her hands. “I think we shall astonish Captain Binks.” So much astonished, indeed, was the worthy man when he realised that his employer had taken matters into her own hands, and chosen a course for herself without consulting him, that he forgot to make his usual objections until it was too late to urge them with any hope of success, and when he did so, the Princess merely referred him to Caerleon. “Lord Caerleon suggested this trip,” she said, “and if there are any difficulties, he will know how to meet them. He is a gentleman of great experience, my good captain.” To the surprise of every one Captain Binks surrendered at discretion. It was only fitting that he should take the lead when the other person concerned was a woman and a foreigner; but when there was an English gentleman on board the captain knew his place. The Princess’s mild suggestions he had regarded as eccentricities, to be nipped in the bud for fear of disaster, while he would have welcomed the wildest proposals Caerleon had cared to make as oracular utterances to be obeyed literally for the honour of the British flag.