Save for one day of mistral the trip across the Mediterranean proved delightful, and for six days we remained in the white old City of the Corsairs, where we went on excursions and had a most pleasant time. We visited the Kasbah, drove to the Jardin d’Essai and to the pretty village of St. Eugène, while several of the party went to visit friends who were staying at the big hotels up at Mustapha. Life in Algiers was, I found, most interesting after the Parisian artificiality and glitter of Nice and Monte Carlo, and with Lord Eldersfield as my cavalier we saw all that was worth seeing. We lounged in those gay French cafés under the date-palms in the Place du Gouvernement, strolled up those narrow, ladder-like streets in the old city, or mingled with those crowds of mysterious-looking veiled Arab women who were bargaining for their purchases in the market. All was fresh, all diverting. As for Ulrica, she entered thoroughly into the spirit of the thing, as she always did, and with Gerald usually as her escort went hither and thither with her true tourist habit of poking about everywhere, regardless of contagious diseases or the extensive variety of bad smells which invariably exists in an Oriental town. Although each day the party went ashore and enjoyed themselves, old Mr. Keppel never accompanied them. He knew the place, he said, and had some business affairs to attend to in the deck-house which he kept sacred to himself. Therefore he was excused. “No, Miss Rosselli,” he had explained to me in confidence, “I’m no sight-seer. If my guests enjoy seeing a few of the towns on the Mediterranean I am quite contented, but I prefer to remain quiet here rather than to be driving about in brakes and revisiting places that I have already visited long ago.” “Certainly,” I said. “You are under no obligation to these people. They accept your kind hospitality, and the least they can do is to allow you to remain in peace when you wish.” “Yes,” he sighed. “I leave them in Gerald’s charge. He knows how to look after them.” And his face seemed sad and anxious, as though he were utterly forlorn. Indeed, after a week at sea we saw but little of him. He lunched and dined with us in the saloon each day, but never joined our musical parties after dinner, and seldom, if ever, entered the smoking-room. All knew him to be eccentric, therefore this apparent disregard for our presence was looked upon as one of his peculiar habits. Upon Gerald devolved the duty of acting as entertainer, and assisted by Ulrica, myself, and old Miss Keppel he endeavored to make every one happy and comfortable. Fortunately, the ubiquitous Barnes had by Gerald’s urgent desire been left behind at the Villa Fabron.