Jack laughed, recognizing the speaker's voice at once.
"I am the wrong person to be quoting poetry to, Captain Madden," she replied, scarcely turning her head. "I told you the other day that Jean and Olive are the literary members of our family. I hardly ever used to read a book, except now and then my school ones, until my accident. Then I took to reading from necessity. I am not in the least clever or romantic, and reading has so often seemed to me like finding out things second-hand. I am afraid I really want to do the exciting things myself."
Jack was hardly looking or thinking of her audience as she talked. One of the nicest things about their new acquaintance was that one was able to say almost anything to him and he would understand. She was feeling curiously gay this morning, as though something of unusual importance was about to happen to her. Of course it was the thought of their first leaving the steamer after nine days of ocean travel. Nevertheless, Jack had dressed with unusual care, not intending to make another toilet before going ashore. Instead of her usual brown steamer coat she was wearing a long, heavy white woolen one, with a soft white hat trimmed in a single feather curling close around the crown. And under the brim her hair was pure bronze in the sunlight and all the old color of the ranch days had this morning come back into her cheeks.
"I am only quoting guide-book poetry," Captain Madden explained, after a moment's admiring glance at his young companion.
Suddenly Jack ceased gazing over the water to look at him. "Captain Madden," she asked with the directness which some persons liked and others disliked in her, "you told us once that you were a British army officer, didn't you? Then would you mind explaining why when you are to show us over the English fort at Gibraltar today, you are not wearing an English officer's uniform?"
If for the fraction of a second there was a slight hesitation before Captain Madden's reply Jack failed to notice it.
"I am very glad you asked me that question, Miss Ralston," he answered, coming to the edge of the ship's railing and leaning one arm upon it as he talked. "I am afraid I have been sailing under false colors with you and the other members of your little party. I simply meant you to understand that I was at one time a member of the British army. Several years ago I resigned my commission. Else, my dear young lady, how do you suppose I could have attempted to run a ranch in your west and been permitted to fight with the Mexicans on the losing side? I am a soldier of fortune or misfortune, whichever way you may choose to put it."
The older man spoke half in jest, but Jacqueline Ralston stared at him in a more critical fashion than she ever had before. Could she have been making a hero in her mind of a man who was no hero at all?
"But I can't understand how a man who has once been in the army could stop being," she remarked slowly.
Her companion shook his head. "No, of course you rich Americans can't understand," he replied. "The fact of the matter was that I did not have money enough to keep up my position. Though I can hardly expect a young American girl with a gold mine at her disposal to realize what a lack of money means."