Her answer, only through her eyes, that if I was not, in fact, a very ordinary individual I had made a very commonplace remark, so added to my embarrassment that we had talked about the weather and the sea for some time before I got back to my mooring and felt reasonably secure. Before breakfast was over we were getting along better, though I could not have concealed the admiration I did not express. At the end of the meal the Queen and I retired to the lounging room, Deverell going forward to look after the ship. His attitude toward her was one of devotion that amounted almost to homage, which she accepted as her right, and he spoke of and to her only as “Queen.” Naturally, I addressed her in the same way, as that was the only name Deverell had used when he started to introduce me, and I then knew her by no other. “We are headed for my retreat,” she explained. “I want you to see it, and your visit there will give us an opportunity to get better acquainted. I should like to have you stay with us as long as you can. I will put you down in Hong Kong or Singapore on three or four days’ notice.” I assured her the prospect was delightful. With a bow and a smile that encouraged veritable loquacity she asked me to tell her all about myself, and she displayed so much interest in my different filibustering expeditions, and the adventures that grew out of them, that I gradually told her the whole story. When my recital brought me to the China Sea her interest became even more lively, as to details, but she displayed the same intimate knowledge of my movements, in a general way, that Deverell had shown. In the course of the numerous long talks which followed, I felt that I was regaining some of the ground I had lost by my blunders in my first bewilderment, and though my infatuation grew stronger every time I was in her magnetic presence, which charged my whole being with the electrical energy of life at its best, I said not another word to her about it, on the ship. As we came to understand each other better she asked me to tell her all I had heard about her. I was surprised, but I knew she meant me to be perfectly frank with her, so I repeated, in a general way, the vague and vapory whisperings as to her wonderful beauty, on the one hand, and her alleged bloodthirstiness and wantonness on the other, which latter stories, I told her, could not be tolerated for an instant by any one who had ever seen her. She smiled bitterly. “I never have cared what people said or thought of me,” she said very slowly, “until recently. Far from enjoying the life I have been compelled to lead, I have suffered from it. It has been hard, and I have had to face and solve its problems alone. Craving friendship as flowers do the sun, and needing it as much, I have had to cut myself off from the world and try to make myself believe that I have neither heart nor conscience. When we get home I will tell you the story of my life, as you have told me yours.”