are
of this apparency, and it annoyed him. Still, sometimes instinct
guides more surely than logic. After all, he and Breitmann were only
casual acquaintances. There had never been any real basis for
friendship; and the possibility of this had been rendered nil by the
telegram. One can not make a friend of a man who has lied gratuitously.

"Now, Mr. Breitmann," interposed the admiral pacifically, for he was
too keen a sailor not to have noted the chill in the air, "suppose we
send off those letters? Here, I'll write the names and addresses, and
you can finish them up by yourself. Please call up Captain Flanagan at
Swan's Hotel and tell him to report this afternoon." The admiral
scribbled out the names of his guests, gathered up the precious
documents, and put them into his pocket. "Come along now, my children;
we'll take the air in the garden and picture the Frenchman's brig
rocking in the harbor."

"It is all very good of you," said Fitzgerald, as the trio eyed the
yacht from the terrace.

"Nonsense! The thing remains that all these years you ignored us."

"I have been, and still am, confoundedly poor. There is a little; I
suppose I could get along in a hut in some country village; but the
wandering life has spoiled me for that."

"Fake pride," rebuked the girl.

"I suppose it is."

"Your father had none. Long after the smash he'd hunt me up for a
week's fishing. Isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the yacht.

"She is," the young man agreed, with his admiration leveled at the
lovely profile of the girl.

"Let me see," began the admiral; "there will be Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield,
first-class sailors, both of them. What's the name of that singer who
is with them?"

"Hildegarde von Mitter."

"Of the Royal Opera in Munich?" asked Fitzgerald.

"Yes. Have you met her? Isn't she lovely?"

"I have only heard of her."

"And Arthur Cathewe," concluded the admiral.

"Cathewe? That will be fine," Fitzgerald agreed aloud. But in his
heart he swore he would never forgive Arthur for this trick. And he
knew all the time! "He's the best friend I have. A great hunter, with
a reputation which reaches from the Carpathians to the Himalayas, from
Abyssinia to the Congo."

"He is charming and amusing. Only, he is very shy."

At four that afternoon Captain Flanagan presented his respects. The
admiral was fond of the old fellow, a friendship formed in the blur of
battle-smoke. He had often been criticized