“We have actually hit upon a topic that should prove inexhaustible. Believe me, Miss Maxwell, that is my pet subject. More than once, needing a listener, I have even lectured my long-suffering terrier, Joey, on the point.” Isobel laughed softly. The two standing in front of the bookcase started apart, with a sudden consciousness that they were speaking unguardedly, for Isobel’s mirth had mockery in it—“there was a laughing devil in her sneer.” “By the way, where is Joey?” she asked. The dog answered her question by appearing, with a stretch and a yawn, from beneath a bunk. He had heard his name in Courtenay’s voice. That sufficed for Joey at any time. “What a strange animal!” went on Isobel. “I should have thought that he would bark, or peep out at us, at the least, when we came in.” “Joey had a disturbed night,” said Courtenay. “We passed the evening in the Hotel Colon, and he regards South American hotels as the natural dwelling-place of cats, and other bad characters. Here, he is at home, and he knew that I was present.” “Otherwise, he would have classified us as suspicious?” “He is far too discriminating. What do you say, pup?” Joey looked up at his master. Apparently, he found the conversation trivial; he yawned again, capaciously. “You darling! You must have slept with one eye open,” said Elsie, stooping to pat him. “Oh, take care!” cried Isobel. “He may bite you.” “Not he! When you see that wistful look in a dog’s eyes, have no fear. He wants to speak then. You won’t bite me, will you, dear?” And Elsie sank on one knee, to stroke Joey’s white coat; whereupon Joey tried to lick her face. “Between the Stevenson Library and the captain’s dog you are installed as a prime favorite on board the _Kansas_,” commented Isobel. The other girl rose hurriedly. She had caught the touch of malice in the smooth voice. “Captain Courtenay is too polite to remind us that we are intruders,” she said lightly. “We forget that he is busy. Joey, candidly canine, did not try to hide his feelings.” Isobel swung her chair round to face the door. “This is quite the best place in the ship,” she said. “I am very comfortable, thank you. Please don’t send us away, captain.” Before Courtenay could answer, the officer of the watch looked in. “Cape Caraumilla bearing sou’west of the Buei Rock, sir,” he announced, and vanished again. “Don’t hurry,” said Courtenay, taking up his cap. “I must leave you for a few minutes.” He was gone, with Joey at his heels, and there was a brief silence. “Really, Isobel, we should go back on deck,” urged Elsie, uneasily. Already she half regretted the impulse which led her to intervene in her friend’s special hobby. “I like that. I didn’t credit you with such guile, Elsie Maxwell. You snap up my nice captain beneath my very nose, and coolly propose that I should vacate the battlefield. Oh dear, no! I can’t talk literature, but I _can_ flirt, and I have not finished with Arthur yet by a long chalk.”