"I was just asking Mrs. Harrington about Malta, dear," exclaimed Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "It is a nice place, is it not, Marian?" "I believe it is." "And somehow I quite want to go there. I can't think why," said Mrs. Ingham-Baker volubly. "It would be so nice to get a little sunshine after these grey skies, would it not, dear?" Agatha gave a little shiver as she sat down. "It would be very nice to feel really warm," she said. "But there is the horrid sea voyage." "I dare say you would enjoy that very much after the first two days," put in Mrs. Harrington. "Especially if we select a nice large boat--one of those with two funnels?" put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "Now I wonder what boat we could go by?" "Luke's," suggested Mrs. Harrington, with cynical curtness. There was a subtle suggestion of finality in her tone, a tiniest note of weariness which almost said-- "Now we have reached our goal." "I suppose," said Mrs. Ingham-Baker doubtfully, "that it is really a fine vessel?" "So I am told." "I really expect," put in Agatha carelessly, "that one steamer is as good as another." Mrs. Harrington turned on her like suave lightning. "But one boat is not so well officered as another, my dear!" she said. Agatha--not to be brow-beaten, keen as the older fencer--looked Mrs. Harrington straight in the face. "You mean Luke," she said. "Of course I dare say he is a good officer. But one always feels doubtful about trusting one's friends--does one not?" "One does," answered Mrs. Harrington, turning to her letters. CHAPTER XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA. All such things touch secret strings For heavy hearts to bear. "And you don't seem to care." Agatha smiled a little inward smile of triumph. "Don't I?" she answered, with a sidelong glance beneath her lashes. Luke stared straight in front of him with set lips. He looked a dangerous man to trifle with, and what woman can keep her hands out of such danger as this? They were walking backwards and forwards on the broad promenade deck of the Croonah, and the Croonah was gliding through the grey waters of the Atlantic. To their left lay the coast of Portugal smiling in the sunshine. To their right the orb of day himself, lowering cloudless to the horizon. Ahead, bleak and lonely, lay the dread Burlings. The maligned Bay of Biscay lay behind, and already a large number of the passengers had plucked up spirit to leave the cabin stairs, crawling on deck to lie supine in long chairs and talk hopefully of calmer days to come. Agatha had proved herself to be a good sailor. She walked beside Luke FitzHenry with her usual dainty firmness of step and confidence of carriage. Luke himself--in uniform--looked sternly in earnest. They had been talking of Gibraltar, where the Croonah was to touch the next morning, and Luke had just told Agatha that he could not go ashore with her and Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "Don't I?" the girl reiterated with a little sigh. "Well, it does not sound like it."