Lesbia wanted to learn all about everything--the name of every sail, of every rope. She stood near the helmsman, a slim graceful figure in a white gown of some soft material, with never a jewel or a flower to relieve that statuesque simplicity. She wore no hat, and the rich chesnut hair was rolled in a loose knot at the back of the small Greek-looking head. Montesma came to her every now and then to explain what was being done; and by-and-by, when the canvas was all up, and the yacht was skimming over the water, like a giant swan borne by the current of some vast strong river, he came and stayed by her side, and they two sat making little baby sentences in Spanish, he as teacher and she as pupil, with no one near them but the sailors. The owner of the _Cayman_ had disappeared mysteriously a quarter of an hour after the sails were unfurled, and Lady Kirkbank had tottered down to the saloon. 'I am not going--cabin,' she faltered, when Lesbia remonstrated with her, 'only--going--saloon--sofa--lie down--little--Smithson take care--you,' not perceiving that Smithson had vanished, 'shall be--quite close.' So Lesbia and Don Gomez were alone under the summer stars, murmuring little bits of Spanish. 'It is the only true way of learning a language,' he said; 'grammars are a delusion.' It was a very delightful and easy way of learning, at any rate. Lesbia reclined in her bamboo chair, and fanned herself indolently, and watched the shadowy shores of the island, cliff and hill, down and wooded crest, flitting past her like dream-pictures, and her lips slowly shaped the words of that soft lisping language--so simple, so musical--a language made for lovers and for song, one would think. It was wonderful what rapid progress Lesbia made. She heard a church clock on the island striking, and asked Don Gomez the hour. 'Ten,' he said. 'Ten! Surely it must be later. It was past eight before we began dinner, and we have been sailing for ever so long. Captain, kindly tell me the time,' she called to the skipper, who was lolling over the gunwale near the foremast smoking a meditative pipe. 'Twelve o'clock, my lady.' 'Heavens, can I possibly have been sitting here so long. I should like to stay on deck all night and watch the sailing; but I must really go and take care of poor Lady Kirkbank. I am afraid she is not very well.' 'She had a somewhat distracted air when she went below, but I daresay she will sleep off her troubles. If I were you I should leave her to herself.' 'Impossible! What can have become of Mr. Smithson?' 'I have a shrewd suspicion that it is with Smithson as with poor Lady Kirkbank.' 'Do you mean that he is ill?' 'Precisely.' 'What, on a calm summer night, sailing over a sea of glass. The owner of a yacht!' 'Rather ignominious for poor Smithson, isn't it? But men who own yachts are only mortal, and are sometimes wretched sailors. Smithson is feeble on that point, as I know of old.'