"No," he retorts, "but zome zay your men air a leedle of bodth!" "It is not to the credit of 'some'"--I set down the salt cellar hard on the tray--"that they fail to appreciate my countrymen. They have at least encouraged our learning to take such good care of ourselves that no Peruvian need trouble his head about us." I beckon to the Chinese waiter. "Take this tray up to 49," and I follow him with some show of disdain. Senor Noma meets me at the foot of the dining-room stairs. "I haf sent for a jar of chili-peppers for Mrs. Steele. Will you say your friend I raicommend chili-peppers, and I advice you put a little cayenne in the bif-tea. It makes vairy seeck without." "Thank you, Senor Noma," I say; "Wah-Ching will bring up the peppers and I will tell Mrs. Steele what you say." I glance back at the Peruvian. He is sitting by the table just as I left him, his chin in one hand, while with the other he strokes the wavy moustache and regards me with lowering looks. "He's a handsome creature," I think, as I go upstairs; "but he's been told it too often, and he has abominably mediaeval ideas about women." All that hot afternoon I sit in the stuffy stateroom with Mrs. Steele. The wind has veered to the other side and not a breath stirs the curtains at our little window. About four o'clock the "Church of England" knocks at the door. She is profuse in proffers of assistance, and kindly tells me I am looking very badly. "You'd better go out for a little air," she says; "you'll find my daughter and Baron de Bach sitting in the breeze on the other side. He has teased Nellie to get out her guitar; we've had quite a concert. What a charming, bright companion he is!" she says, appealing to me. "Very, very!" I assent, with a slight yawn. "Do go out, Blanche, I don't need you here." Mrs. Steele looks a little self-reproached. "No, dear, I know you don't care about my staying," I answer, "but I'm a little tired of the deck." The "Church of England" drones on about Nellie, who is "such a child, only seventeen; so unsophisticated and so unworldly." "Just imagine, she quite snubs that handsome Peruvian nobleman, and he is really _delightful_, you know." We draw a simultaneous sigh of relief when the "Church of England" leaves us to ourselves. "Blanche," says Mrs. Steele, "you've been fighting again with the Baron. Those Rogers people would be only too glad to attach him to their party. I wouldn't let them do it if I were you. It would be too much of a feather in their cap to have distracted him from us after his very palpable devotion and our unusual friendliness." "No, dear, I won't let our interpreter be wiled away from us. Leave him to me. He's very exasperating at times, but I'll bear with him in future; there's no denying it would be comparatively stupid without him." Mrs. Steele raises the bandage from her eyes and looks at me. "It strikes me you are about to experience a change of heart. If it were almost any other girl, I'd say beware!"