"Impossible! I'm engaged straight away from now until tea-time. The nurse of those peevish little Mortons is worn out, for the mother is ill, and can't help her at all, so I promised to amuse the children for an hour after lunch while she takes a nap. Then I have to play a game of halma with old Mr Schute, and help Miss Ranger to dress and come on deck. She thinks she can manage it to-day, and it will do her a world of good to get some fresh air." "But why need you fag yourself for all these people? Surely there is some one else who can do it. Can you not send your maid to look after the children, at least, and take that hour to yourself?" Peggy smiled with complacent satisfaction. "They would scream themselves hoarse. Of all the spoilt, bad-tempered little ruffians you ever encountered, they are the worst, and there is not a soul on board who can manage them except myself. Yesterday they got so cross that I was almost in despair, and it was only by pretending to be a wild buffalo, and letting them chase me and dig pencils into me for spears, that I could keep them in any sort of order. When they grew tired of the buffalo, I changed into a musical-box, and they ground tunes out of me until my throat was as dry as leather. It kept us going for a long time, however, for they all wanted to hear their own favourite tunes, and were so charmed with the variations. I wish you could have heard the variations! I was so proud of them. The scales ran up and down just like a real musical-box, the tremolo and arpeggio chords were fine, and as for the trills, they were simply entr-r- rancing!" Peggy rolled the `r' with a self-satisfied enjoyment which made Hector laugh in spite of his displeasure, and finished up with an explanatory, "I could never expect Parker to pose as a wild buffalo. She has far too much sense of dignity!" "Oh, of course, I acknowledge that you have a wonderful knack with children! Every one sees that," allowed Hector unwillingly. "It is very kind and delightful of you to bother about other people as you do; but what I complain of is the extent of your services, and--aw--the nature of the recipients! Miss Ranger, for instance, is an impossible person. What she calls herself I don't know, but she doesn't even begin to be a lady. I heard her talking the other day, and she has a vile accent, and not an `h' in her composition."