"Certainly," answered our host. "I much regret that I'm compelled to take you all out of our original course, but I must exchange some telegrams with my agent in London. We shall be in Leghorn to-night, and if you are all agreed, you may sail again at once."
"I'd like to see Leghorn," declared Ulrica. "People who go to Italy always leave it out of their itinerary. I've heard that it is quite charming in many ways. All the better-class Italians from Florence and Rome go there for the bathing in summer."
"Which, I fear, isn't much of a recommendation," observed his lordship, who was, I believe, Ulrica's pet aversion.
"The bathing itself is declared by all the guide-books to be the best in Europe," she answered.
"And the heat in summer greater than in any other place on the Continent of Europe. Its imports are rags from Constantinople and codfish from Newfoundland. No wonder its scents do not all come from roses."
"Certainly not. Of course, if you know the place you are welcome to your own opinion. I don't know it."
"When you do, Miss Yorke, you'll share my opinion. Of that I feel certain," he laughed; and then continued his meal.
The question was shortly decided by vote whether the Vispera should remain at Leghorn or not. By the majority of the guests, Leghorn was supposed to be merely a dirty seaport, and although I, who knew the place well, tried to impress upon them that it possessed many charms not to be found in other Italian towns, it was decided that the yacht should only remain there a day, and then go straight on to Naples.
This decision was disconcerting. I had to prevent the trip southward, and the problem of how to do so without arousing suspicion was an extremely difficult one to solve. If the vessel sailed from Leghorn, then she was doomed, together with every soul on board.