"You do, rather. Isn't he like Patsy Reilly, the gardener's boy at The Beeches, Miss Watts?" "Why no!" exploded Miss Watts. "Certainly not." The Captain laughed. "I told ye so. Mine is the universal physiognomy! Stuffy night, wasn't it?" he added, changing the subject abruptly. Isabelle glanced at him quickly. "I didn't find it so," she said. "Coming to breakfast, Miss Watts?" "Yes. Walk round the deck with us once, as an appetizer?" "No, thanks. I'm famished." "Miss Bryce would rather devour an Irishman as an appetizer before breakfast. 'Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Irishman'." "I'd prefer an Englishman, or a German!" retorted Isabelle, as she nodded and led the way to breakfast. She pondered his remark about the stuffy night with a fluttering heart. Did he know? Did he suspect her? She watched men with moustaches, and tried to listen to their conversation. There were a good many English officers aboard with the regulation hirsute adornment of the upper lip. True to our custom of following English fashions, more than half the American men aboard had diminutive twisted affairs on the upper lip. There was no use trying to identify "the man" by the moustache. She listened for conversation verging upon the Far East--incidentally Chinese embroideries--but in vain. She watched her chance when no one was about, to consult the ship register to see what men were in that corridor. She discovered five English officers were in that tier. In short they arrived, and disembarked without Isabelle finding a single clue to the gentleman who had her treasured coat. Captain O'Leary was civil about their baggage, and getting them a vehicle to go to the hotel. "Are ye sure that ye have everything that belongs to ye?" he inquired, his eyes on Isabelle. What did he mean? Did he mean anything except what he said? "Yes, thanks," replied Miss Watts. "So glad you are staying at our hotel. We'll see you later," she added, and they rode off, leaving him smiling after them, bare-headed in the sunlight. "Most charming man I ever met!" exclaimed Miss Watts. "Umm-m," said Isabelle. It was like a miracle to step out on to the terrace of the hotel, after dinner that night. To have left New York on a cold, raw fall day, and in two days to find oneself in this warm, odorous night air. The band played, and white-clad figures walked, danced, sat in groups over coffee. Everywhere relaxed, happy, laughing people. It was not the season on the island but so many English officers came to recuperate here, so many Americans, shut out of Europe, came down from New York for a week or so, that it was unusually gay.