usiness on shore, and was fain to leave the yacht for
an hour or two before dinner. He invited Don Gomez to go with him, but
the offer was graciously declined.

'Amigo, I don't care even to look at land in such weather. It is so
detestably dry,' he pleaded. 'It is only the sound of the sea gurgling
against the hull that reconciles one to existence. Go, and be happy at
your club, and send off those occult telegrams of yours, dearest. I
shall not leave the _Cayman_ till bed-time.'

He looked as fresh and cool as if utterly unaffected by the heat, which
to a Cuban must have been a merely lukewarm condition of the atmosphere.
But he affected to be prostrate, and Smithson could not insist. He had
his cards to play in a game which required extremest caution, and there
were no friendly indicators on the backs of his kings and aces. He was
feeling his way in the dark, and did not know how much mischief Montesma
was prepared to do.

When the owner of the yacht was gone Don Gomez proposed an adjournment
to the deck for afternoon tea, and the trio sat under the awning,
tea-drinking and gossiping for the next hour. Lady Kirkbank told the
steward to say not at home to everybody, just as if she had a street
door.

'There is a good deal of the _dolce far niente_ about this,' said
Montesma, presently; 'but don't you think we have been anchored in sight
of that shabby little town quite long enough, and that it would be
rather nice to spread our wings and sail round the island before the
racing begins?'

'It would be exquisite,' said Lesbia. 'I am very tired of inaction,
though I dearly love learning Spanish,' she added, with a lovely smile,
and a look that was half submissive, half mutinous. 'But I have really
been beginning to wonder whether this boat can move.'

'You will see that she can, and at a smart pace, too, if I sail her.
Shall we circumnavigate the island? We can set sail after dinner.'

'Will Mr. Smithson consent, do you think?'

'Why does Smithson exist, except to obey you?'

'I don't know if Lady Kirkbank would quite like it,' said Lesbia,
looking at her chaperon, who was waving a big Japanese fan, slowly,
unsteadily, and with a somewhat drunken air, the while she slid into
dreamland.

'Quite like what?' she murmured, drowsily.

'A little sail.'

'I should dearly love it, if it didn't make me sea-sick.'

'Sea-sick on a glassy lake like this! Impossible,' said Montesma. 'I
consider the thing settled. We set