"Ismir!" she called into his ear in a ringing tone. "Beautiful, beautiful Ismir!" "What's that you're talking about?" he demanded doubtfully. "I don't understand." "No? Soon you will understand, when we reach Ismir." "I've never heard of it," he declared. "But I can tell you, if the Old Man don't alter the course, we're going straight into Smyrna." "Ah, yes," she sighed. "I remember now. You call it that. We call it Ismir, Turkish place. When I was little, little girl, we arrive there, my fazzer and my muzzer. Oh, beautiful! The grand hotels, the _bains_, the _plage_, the _quais_, the mountains, the _cafés-chantant_. _Aiee!_ And Bairakli! I will show you. I was little, thirteen years old." She laughed, a soft throaty chuckle, on his shoulder, at some reminiscence. "Ismir! _Oh mein lieber Mann!_" She intoxicated him with her bewildering moods, with her trick of recalling to his memory his early dreams of beautiful women, those bright shadows of unseen enchantresses which had tortured and stimulated his boyish thoughts. But he could not refrain from returning to the serious problem of how she knew so accurately the intentions of his commander. "The captain tell you?" he asked expectantly. Her brow grew dark and a blankness like a film came over her eyes. "I do not like your _capitaine_," she muttered. "He is like an old woman. Look at his face. And the silver ring on his wrist. Like an old vulture, his head between his shoulders. Look at him. He never lifts his eyes. Do not speak of him. But hear me now. When we reach Ismir, we will have a house, you and me, eh?" He stared at her, entranced, yet preoccupied with the overwhelming difficulties of his situation. "Oh, _mon cher_, you do not know how beautiful it is. The most beautiful city in the world." "But how did you know? Why didn't you tell me? Did Mrs. Dainopoulos tell you?" "Ssh! Madame Dainopoulos is an angel. She like you an' me very much. But Monsieur Dainopoulos, he say to me, if I want to see my friends in Pera, by and by there is a ship. You understand? An' then, here on the ship, I hear somesing. Oh, tell me, _mon cher_, what time we arrive at Ismir?" He was hardly listening to her, so busy were his thoughts with the vista opening out before him. He was vaguely conscious that he was passing through a crisis, that Fate had suddenly laid all her cards on the table and was watching him, with bright amber eyes, waiting for him to make out what those cards portended. Here, she seemed to say, is everything you have ever dreamed of, adventure, romance, and the long-imagined pleasures of love.