lumber, and the Baron shows me
his rings and seals--tells me where each came from and the story
attached. He finally pulls out of his pocket a rosary. "I haf carry
dthis efer since I was in Egypt."

This simple little string of olive stones and carved ebony beads quite
captivates my fancy, and the penalty for the expression of my liking
is that I must try it on. He winds it about my wrist and, having
forced open one of the silver links, he bends down and with those
sharp, white teeth bites the open link close again--the blond
moustache sweeps my wrist and the rosary is securely fastened.

"Now," I say, "see what you've done! How will you get it off?"

"It comes not off till you are zomething less dthan my friend or
zomething more."

"Oh, but I can't take your rosary; that's absurd!"

"You cannot take a few leedle pieces of vood from your friend? Vhy,
dthose leedle voods are only dthe--dthe--dthe--how you say?--bones off
dthe olive."

I laugh till I ache. "Bones of the olive!" I almost roll off the
lumber in a spasm of merriment. Mrs. Steele, who wonders at my long
absence, comes with Senor Noma to find me, and soon there are three
laughing at the poor Baron's expense.

"Hush, Blanche, it's really too bad--you must pardon her, Baron,"
says Mrs. Steele.

"I mind it not more," says the Peruvian, with new philosophy.
"Senorita vould laugh in dthe face of St. Peter."

When the gong sounds for service on the morning of the second Sunday
out, the Baron grumbles feelingly at the interruption. He is sketching
Mrs. Steele and me and says he "hates playing on a zo bad violin"--but
a promise is a promise, and we all go down "to church" in the close
dining-room. The Captain reads the beautiful Morning Prayers and
Litanies like a schoolboy, but the music is really admirable. Pretty
Miss Rogers appears to striking advantage. Dressed simply in white,
she plays the accompaniments and leads the singing in a sweet, true
voice. Mrs. Steele and I sit in the background, and I'm afraid I think
but little of the service. Now what perversity is in the mind of man,
I meditate, that blinds him to such real beauty and accomplishment as
Miss Rogers is blessed with? Of course, I'm not such a fool as not to
see that with all my sadly palpable defects of face and temper, the
big Peruvian finds me somehow interesting and "Miss Rogair a nice
girl, but, like a dthousand odthers I haf know, a leedle stupeed." Ah,
the "stupidity" is on the othe