"Bang!" flew a little ladder to the launch. "Creak!" strained a rope. With a patter of soft-soled feet a half dozen white-sailored forms came running! A dark blue officer peered down from the deck! An extra [178] lantern flashed! And another! And another! From some far shadowed corner a piano and violin swept blithely into melody! Then through hands and lips infinitely more discreet than Dighton's, but eyes not nearly so blank, the sparkling, spirited, utterly disheveled, utterly unexplainable little figure followed the master of the house-boat to the luxuriant, softly lighted cabin, where gathered round an almost priceless mahogany table two frowning, serious-minded women, and three frowning serious-minded men sat pouring over a great flare of blue prints. "Nothing," affirmed President Merriwayne's clear, incisive voice at the moment, "nothing--I believe, so affects the human mind as a noble appearance." With a laugh about as mirthless as a maniac's, but a humor fairly convulsed with joy, Sheridan Kaire took a single glance at Daphne, and drew her into the room. "Behold, Ladies and Gentlemen," he announced, "my Pirate Queen! The future arbiter of my fortunes!" From the priceless mahogany table five chairs jerked back as though by a single thud. [179] Five pairs of eyes flared suddenly on Daphne, lapped up the beauty of her, the disheveledness, the audacity, and blinked their lids with astonishment. "Is--is it dramatics?" quavered the older lady's fine patrician voice. "What a--what a child!" "Dramatics?" bridled Miss Merriwayne. As though the unrecognized figure before her was deaf, dumb, blind, she lifted her lorgnette in frowning scrutiny. "Some of the poor whites down here are extraordinarily good looking," she conceded, "but don't you really think, Mr. Kaire, that your jest is just a little--little----" "Jest?" said Sheridan Kaire. From the deck just above their heads the thud of a dragging anchor rope sounded suddenly, and the sharp cry of orders passed from one sailor to another. "In ten minutes at least," laughed Kaire, "or in five, Heaven knows if we can make it, we shall _all_ be off!" With a quite unnecessary air of diablerie he turned and chucked Daphne under the chin. From the further side of the lamp, beyond [180] the unmistakable architect, beyond the unmistakable trustee, a figure not yet distinct, rose slowly into view. It was John Burnarde. Very courteously he advanced towards his host. Not a muscle of his face twitched, not an accent of his voice either lifted or fell. "Truly, Mr. Kaire," he suggested smilingly as one might have smiled at a maniac, "don't you think perhaps it might be better to finish the discussion outside? No matter what a bachelor may contend his rights to be as regards his personal affairs with women, you will hardly insist, I think, on pursuing said affair while my mother and President Merriwayne remain your guests? Surely, tomorrow, when you are more yourself again----"