"So much, I have reason to believe, an eminent legal authority pointed out to the captain yesterday." "Why didn't that same eminent authority point it out to me before?" "Before? I object to the implication. I haven't pointed it out to you now. Your own natural, if somewhat sluggish intelligence inferred it from a random remark about a friend's age." "Does she know it?" "She does." "Since when?" "Since some forty-eight hours." "Then, why on earth didn't she tell me? She knew I didn't dare speak to her. But she never said a word." "Give me," began the judge, "five" (here the Tyro reached for his pocket, but the other repudiated the gesture with a wave of the hand) "million dollars, and I wouldn't undertake to guess why any female between the ages of one and one hundred years, does or does not do any given thing. I'm no soothsayer." "Then I may speak to her to-morrow, without fear of making trouble?" "You may certainly speak to her--if you can find her. As for trouble, I wouldn't care to answer for you," chuckled the judge. "Good-night to you." The Tyro sat up late, asking questions of the moon, who, being also of feminine gender, obstinately declined to betray the secrets of the sex. VIII Eighth day out. Glorious sunshine, a tingling wind, and the ship just "inchin' along like a poor inch-worm." Everything's wrong with the ship;-- Everything's right with the world. Perfectly satisfied with the Macgregor hospitality. She may take all the time she wants, so far as I'm concerned-- SMITH'S LOG. Out of the blue void of a fleckless sky, came whooping at dawn a boisterous wind. All the little waves jumped from their slow-swinging cradles to play with it, and, as they played, became big waves, with all the sportiveness of children and all the power of giants. The Clan Macgregor was their toy. At first she pretended indifference, and strove to keep the even tenor of her way, regardless of them. But they were too much and too many for her. She began to cripple and jig most painfully for one of her size and dignity. She limped, she wobbled, she squattered, she splashed and sploshed, she reeled hither and thither like an intoxicated old rounder buffeted by a crowd of practical jokers, and she lost time hand over fist, to the vast approval of Mr. Alexander Forsyth Smith. Time was now just so much capital to his hopes. The tonic seduction of the gale was too much for Little Miss Grouch. This was no day for a proven sailor to be keeping between decks. Moreover, the maiden panic was now somewhat allayed. The girl's emotions, after the first shock of the surprise and the resentment of the hitherto untouched spirit, had come under control. She could now face a Daddleskink or a regiment of Daddleskinks, unmoved, so she felt--with proper support. Hence, like the Tyro, she was on deck early.