“Your charity goes too far,” he cried. “That was not the exact reason. No, my dear Miss Maxwell, I begin to exercise a new-born discretion. I shall not elucidate that cryptic remark until after New Year’s Day. But I don’t mind telling you why I have hit on a definite date. If all goes well with us—and we have had so many escapes that Providence may well send us a few more—the _Kansas_ should steam out of our little bay of Good Hope about that period. Then I shall remind you of our discussion, and keep my promise.” With that he left her. After a gasp or two of surprise, for Elsie could read only one meaning into his words, she hurried up the bridge companion to arouse Mr. Boyle and ask what he would like for luncheon. “Thank goodness, Joey,” she murmured to the dog, whom she picked up in her arms, “thank goodness, Mr. Boyle is neither an engaged man nor a widower. I do believe our excellent doctor is more concerned on his own account than on mine. And he said that your master’s manner ‘betokened a growing admiration.’ I wish—no, Joey, I mean nothing of the sort, and if you dare to hint at such a thing I shall be very angry with you—very—angry—indeed.” “Huh,” muttered Boyle, wide awake and watching her through the open door, “some one has been worryin’ that girl. It’s a sure sign of trouble when a woman whispers in the ear of a dog or cat. Now, who can it be? That doctor chap? He cocked his eye at her this mornin’ when she spoke about Ventana. He’s a pretty tough old bird to think about settin’ up house with a nice young jenny wren. Damn his eyes! he may be as rich as a Jew, but if she doesn’t want him, an’ is too skeered to say so, I’ll tell him, in the right sort of Spanish, an’ all. Now, had it been the skipper—” Boyle hardly knew what to think—“had it been the skipper.” CHAPTER XII. ENLIGHTENMENT The captain was enthusiastic when he heard of Elsie’s idea for the protection of the main deck—“an excellent notion,” he termed it, but he scouted the suggestion that she should undertake the work herself. “You little know what hauling taut heavy canvas means,” he said when they met at lunch. “It would tear the skin off your hands. No, Miss Maxwell, we can put our Chileans on to that job. I have something better for you to do. Can you map?” “I have copied heaps of plans for my father,” she told him. “Excellent! At noon to-day I took an observation, so I intend to devote an hour to revising the chart. Will you help? Joey is in the scheme already. Then the Admiralty will gracefully acknowledge the survey supplied by Miss Elsie Maxwell, Captain Arthur Courtenay, and Joey, otherwise known as ‘the pup.’” His allusion to the dog by name recalled “José the Wine-bag,” but Elsie thought she would retain that tiny scrap of detective information for the present. So she simply said: “You will explain to me my part of the undertaking, of course?”