"I vill show all unbeliefers dthat I know how to value and to keep a pearl vhen I find von."
Mrs. Steele succumbs to one of her old headaches on our return to the steamer, and I pass the greater part of the day in seclusion with her. After luncheon, as I linger to superintend the arrangements of the invalid's tea-tray, the Baron joins me.
"I am vairy sorry about Madame Steele's headache. Tell me, please, vhat can I do?"
"Nothing, thank you," I say; "there is no remedy. She is accustomed to these attacks."
"If nodthing does gude dthen vhy stay you efer in dthat room; you vill be ill, too."
"Oh, no," I say, "no fear of that."
"But," he insists, "if you do nodthing only sit in dthat room, let me stay vidth her and you come out in dthe air. Madame Steele ees not like you; she like me vairy vell."
"She likes me better, and I can't leave her."
"Haf you no care for your healdth? You air not fit to take care of yourself—dthat old voman in Acapulco vas right; you should nefer be leaf alone."
"Doesn't it ever occur to you that I might be so accustomed to managing my own affairs that interference from an outsider might seem strange?"