“Then,” said Greaves, “if the señorita can sew, let her mind be at rest. I am the owner of a roll of fine duck, which is entirely at her service. There are yards enough to yield her as many dresses as she needs. Will she require stuff for trimming? Let her select a flag of two or three colors. Bunting makes excellent trimming. It is light and brine-proof.” Antonio bungled much, and squinted fiercely in the delivery of this; yet he contrived to make the lady faintly understand the meaning of Greaves’ speech. She tapped on her knee with her fingers, and seemed to keep time with the beat of her foot to an air that she inaudibly hummed; her black eyes were downward bent, but at swift intervals the fringes lifted, and a glance of light sparkled at me or Greaves. I noticed a pouting play of mouth. In fact, her air was that of a girl who has been spoiled by indulgence since her childhood. One figured her as the goddess of the fandango, the burden of the midnight guitar, and the heroine of a score of sweethearts. “Duck is very well for dresses, sir,” said I. “She is thinking of under-linen.” “We are not to know anything about under-linen,” said Greaves. “She must make what she wants. She doesn’t seem grateful enough to please me. To bother me about dress now, after four days of that cinder, and the deliverance recent enough to keep most people hysterically sobbing and thanking God in fervent ejaculations!” Antonio addressed her. I guessed he wanted to know if he could go. She spoke to him, and the man, awkwardly smiling, said: “The señorita asks if you are Catholics?” “Yes and no, for my part,” answered Greaves, looking at her gravely, “I am heading that way. I believe I shall hoist the Papal flag yet, but it’s not flying at present.” “Is the capitan a Catholic?” repeated the lady. “Ay, but not a Papist,” said Greaves. “Are you a Catholic, señor?” “I love God and hate the devil,” said I. “That is my religion. It is broad, and there is room for many names upon its back.” “Is it customary for ladies, do you know, Fielding, for ladies who have just been rescued from the horrors of a volcanic island, from perils hideously increased by the association of such a yellow and by no means fangless worm as that”--dropping his head in a cool nod at Antonio--“to inquire into the religious faiths of their preservers?” The lady Aurora spoke. “The señorita wishes to know when you changed your religion?” “Ah, when, indeed?” said I, laughing. “You were a very good Catholic at Lima, señor?” “Yes, when I was at Lima, I was a very good Catholic?” said I. “Then you are the _caballero_ the señorita supposes?” “Damn ye, you squinting devil, you know better!” thundered Greaves. “Jump forward. We’ve had enough of this.” The man fled toward the forecastle, noiseless with naked feet. The lady looked frightened. “Lima, señorita--_no_!” said I smiting my bosom with force.