the bottle, rejecting each in turn.

Ships in danger of wreck or disablement sometimes cast forth such
precarious messengers calling for aid. But he had seen the _Idalia_
not three hours before, safe and speeding. Suppose the crew had
mutinied and imprisoned the passengers below, and the message was
one begging for succour! But, premising such an improbable outrage,
would the agitated captives have taken the pains to fill four pages
of note-paper with carefully penned arguments to their rescue.

Thus by elimination he soon rid the matter of the more unlikely
theories, and was reduced--though aversely--to the less assailable
one that the bottle contained a message to himself. Ida knew he was
in Coralio; she must have launched the bottle while the yacht was
passing and the wind blowing fairly toward the shore.

As soon as Geddie reached this conclusion a wrinkle came between his
brows and a stubborn look settled around his mouth. He sat looking
out through the doorway at the gigantic fire-flies traversing the
quiet streets.

If this was a message to him from Ida, what could it mean save an
overture toward a reconciliation? And if that, why had she not used
the same methods of the post instead of this uncertain and even
flippant means of communication? A note in an empty bottle, cast into
the sea! There was something light and frivolous about it, if not
actually contemptuous.

The thought stirred his pride and subdued whatever emotions had been
resurrected by the finding of the bottle.

Geddie put on his coat and hat and walked out. He followed a street
that led him along the border of the little plaza where a band was
playing and people were rambling, care-free and indolent. Some
timorous _senoritas_ scurrying past with fire-flies tangled in the
jetty braids of their hair glanced at him with shy, flattering eyes.
The air was languorous with the scent of jasmin and orange-blossoms.

The consul stayed his steps at the house of Bernard Brannigan. Paula
was swinging in a hammock on the gallery. She rose from it like a
bird from its nest. The colour came to her cheek at the sound of
Geddie's voice.

He was charmed at the sight of her costume--a flounced muslin dress,
with a little jacket of white flannel, all made with neatness and
style. He suggested a stroll, and they walked out to the old Indian
well on the hill road. They sat on the curb, and there Geddie made
the expected but long-deferred speech. Certain though