een _passe_."

"_Helas_!" mournfully.

It was a beautiful morning, a sharp blue sky and a sea of running
silver; warm, too, for they were bearing away into the southern seas
now. Every one had sea-legs by this time, and the larder dwindled in a
respectable manner.

Fitzgerald viewed his case dispassionately. But what to do? A
thousand times he had argued out the question, with a single result,
that he was a fool for his pains. He became possessed with sudden
inexplicable longings for land. He could not get away from this yacht;
on land there would have been a hundred straight lines to the woods and
the fisherman's philosophy. Things were going directly to one end, and
presently he would have no more power to stem the words. At least one
thing was certain, the admiral could not drop him overboard.

"The villain?"

He was moved suddenly out of his dream, for the object of it stood
smiling at his side. A wisp of hair was blowing across her eyes and
she was endeavoring to adjust it under her cap.

"The villain?" making a fine effort to remarshal his thoughts.

"Yes. We were talking about him last night. Where did you leave him?"

"He was still pursuing, I believe."

"Why don't you make him a real villain, a man who never kills any one,
but who makes every one unhappy?"

"But that's a problem-villain; what we must have is a romance-villain,
the kind every one is sorry for. Look at that old Portuguese
man-o'-war," pointing to the crest of a near-by wave. "Funny little
codger!"

"When do you expect to begin the story on paper?"

"When I have _all_ the material," not afraid of her eyes at that moment.

She propped her elbows on the rail. It was a seductive pose, and came
very near being the young man's undoing.

"Does it seem impossible to you," she said, "that in these prosaic
times we are treasure hunting? Must we not wake up and find it a
dream?"

"Most dreams are perishable, but in this case we have the dream tightly
bound. But what are we going to do with all this money when we find
it?"

"Divide it or start a soldiers' home. I've never thought of it as
money."

"Heaven knows, I have!"

"Why?"

"Do you really wish to know?" in a voice new to her ear. "Do you wish
to know why I want money, lots and lots of it?"

She dropped her arms and turned. The tone agitated and alarmed her
strangely. "Why, yes. With plenty of money you could devote all your
time to writing; and I am sure