“Leghorn!” exclaimed Lord Eldersfield at my elbow. “Horrid place! I was there once. Narrow streets, dirty people, primitive sanitation, and a sorry attempt at a promenade.” “Well, we don’t stay there long, that’s one comfort,” said Ulrica. “Mr. Keppel is going to land, and he’ll rejoin us at Naples.” I looked down the table and saw that the face of the old millionaire was pale, without its usual composure. He was pretending to be busily occupied with his porridge. “Are we going on straight to Naples, Keppel?” inquired Eldersfield. “Certainly,” answered our host. “I much regret that I’m compelled to take you all out of our original course, but I must exchange some telegrams with my agent in New York. We shall be in Leghorn to-night, and if you are all agreed you may sail again at once.” “I’d like to see Leghorn,” declared Ulrica. “People who go to Italy always leave it out of their itinerary. I’ve heard that it is quite charming in many ways. All the better-class Italians from Florence and Rome go there for the bathing in summer.” “Which I fear isn’t much of a recommendation,” observed his Lordship, who was, I believe, Ulrica’s pet aversion. “The bathing itself is declared by all the guide-books to be the best in Europe,” she answered. “And the heat and mosquitoes in summer greater than in any other place on the Continent of Europe. Its imports are rags from Constantinople and codfish from Newfoundland. No wonder its effluvias are not all roses.” “Perhaps so. Of course, if you know the place you are welcome to your own opinion. I don’t know it.” “When you do, Miss Yorke, you’ll share my opinion; of that I feel certain,” he laughed, and then continued his meal. The question was shortly afterwards decided by popular vote whether the Vispera should remain in Leghorn or not. To the majority of the guests Leghorn was supposed to be merely a dirty seaport, and although I, who knew the place well, tried to impress upon them that it possessed many charms not to be found in other Italian towns, it was decided that the yacht should only remain there a day, and then go straight on to Naples. This decision was disconcerting. I had to prevent the trip southward, and the problem of how to do so without arousing suspicion was an extremely difficult one to solve. If the vessel sailed from Leghorn, then she was doomed, with every soul on board. CHAPTER XIV IN WHICH I MAKE A RESOLVE The great broad plain which lies between marble-built old Pisa and the sea was flooded by the golden Italian sunset, and the background of the serrated Apennines loomed a dark purple in the distance as we approached the long breakwater which protects Leghorn from the sea.