"What is the matter?" says my friend; "have you disagreed about something?"
"Yes," I say, "we've disagreed, and he has the best of it, for he can argue his point with four tongues and I've only one."
Mrs. Steele is curious; she slips her arm through mine.
"Has he been overpolite to you, my dear?"
"Mrs. Steele," I say, thoughtfully, "I'm a little amused and still more perplexed by this man. Will you allow me the American girl's privilege of taking care of herself and promise not to interfere if I tell you how matters go?"
"Yes," says Mrs. Steele quickly, "I need no convincing that you can take care of yourself, but I rather like that big Peruvian with all his worldly experience and boyish heart. I hope he hasn't been translating into broken English the eloquence of his face. If you're wise, you'll keep him on friendly ground till near the end of the voyage at least; he will make an agreeable third in our excursions on shore. His knowledge of Spanish and Mexican customs will be useful, but if you allow him to make a goose of himself, there's an end to all friendly intercourse."
She pauses a moment and then adds hopefully:
"But still we've known him only two days; I merely warn you in time for future need."
"It's too late," I say, leaning far over the railing to watch the phosphorescence gleam and darken. "He has just been making furious love in four languages. Let's go in, dear."
That night I wake out of some unpleasant dream to hear Mrs. Steele saying: