Nothing of stupendous importance happened that evening except that—after we had caught three dozen of good-sized lithe and returned to the yacht with this welcome addition to our stores—there was a general discussion of our plans for the next few days. And our gentle hostess was obviously looking forward to Angus Sutherland’s coming back to us with great pleasure; and we were to make our return to suit his convenience; and she would write to him whenever we got near a post-office again. Mary Avon had sate silent during all this. At last, she said—apparently with some effort and yet very deliberately— "I—I think you are a little cruel to Dr. Sutherland. You are forcing him to come with you against his better judgment—for you know, with his prospects, and the calls on his time, he cannot afford such long idleness. Do you think it is quite fair?" The woman stared at this girl, who spoke with some earnestness, though her eyes were downcast. "He would do anything to please you," Mary Avon continued, as if she were determined to get through with some speech that she had prepared, "and he is very fond of sailing: but do you think you should allow him to injure his prospects in this way? Wouldn’t it be a greater kindness to write and say that, if he really feels he ought to return to London, you would not hold him to his promise? I am sure he would not be offended: he would understand you at once. And I am sure he would do what is clearly right: he would go straight back to London, and resume his work—for his own sake and for the sake of those who count on a great future for him. I, for one, should be very sorry to see him come back to idle away his time in sailing." And still Queen Tita stared at the girl, though their eyes did not meet. And she could scarcely believe that it was Mary Avon who had counselled this cold dismissal. *CHAPTER VI.* *"UNCERTAIN, COY, AND HARD TO PLEASE."* There are two people walking up and down the deck this beautiful morning: the lazy ones are still below, dawdling over breakfast. And now young Smith, though he is not much more than an acquaintance, talks quite confidentially to his hostess. She has his secret; he looks to her for aid. And when they do have a quiet moment like this together there is usually but one person of whom they speak. "I must say she has an extraordinary spirit," he observes, with some decision. "Why, I believe she is rather pleased than otherwise to have lost that money. She is not a bit afraid of going up to London to support herself by her work. It seems to amuse her on the whole!" "Mary has plenty of courage," says the other quietly. "I don’t wonder at my uncle being so fond of her: he likes her independent ways and her good humour. I shouldn’t be surprised if he were to adopt her as his daughter, and cut me out. There would be some sense in that."