"The rubies!" Dominica repeated. "We are here as the guests of El Beauvallet, and I vow we will play the part right royally!" There was a soft scratching on the door, and Don Manuel came in. "Well, my child?" he said, and looked around him with approval. Doña Dominica waved her hand. "As you see, señor, I am very well. And you?" He nodded, and came to sit beside her. "They house us snugly enough. There is a strange creature giving orders to my man at this moment. He says he is El Beauvallet's lackey. I do not understand these English servants, and the license they have. The creature talks without pause." He drew his gown about his knees. "We labour with the unexpected," he complained, and looked gravely at his daughter. "The commander bids us to supper. We shall not forget, Dominica, that we sail as guests upon this ship." "No," said Dominica doubtfully. "We shall use Sir Nicholas with courtesy," added Don Manuel. "Yes, señor," said Dominica, more doubtfully still. An hour later Joshua came once more to her door. Supper awaited her, he said, and bowed her down the alleyway to the stateroom. She went regally, and rubies glowed on her bosom. The dull red of her stiff gown made her skin appear the whiter; she carried a fan of feathers in her hand, and had a wired ruff of lace sewn over with jewels behind her head. The stateroom was low-pitched, lit by two lamps hung on chains from the thick beams above. On the bulkhead opposite the door arms were emblazoned, arms crossed with the bar sinister, and with a scroll round the base, bearing the legend _Sans Peur_. A table was spread in the middle of the room, and there were high-backed chairs of Spanish make set round it. Beside one of these was standing Master Dangerfield, point-de-vice in a bombasted doublet of grograine, and the famous Venice hosen. He bowed and blushed when he saw Dominica, and was eager to set a chair for her. She had no quarrel with Dangerfield; she smiled upon him, enslaved him straightway, and sat her down at the table, unconcernedly fanning herself. There was a cheerful voice uplifted without, a strong masculine voice that had a ringing quality. One might always know when Sir Nicholas Beauvallet approached. He came in, apparently cracking some jest, escorting Don Manuel. Dominica surveyed him through her lashes. Even in dinted armour, with his hair damp with sweat, and his hands grimed with powder he had appeared to her personable. She saw him now transformed.