s," he would reply. Or, "Half-way up
the street. _Now_ don't you see?" Or, removing the field-glasses for a
moment to observe the direction of her anxious blinking, "Why, bless my
soul, you aren't looking the right way _at all_. Get it in a line with
that chimney over there, and the yellow house. The _yellow_ house. You're
looking straight at the pink one. Bless my soul, tut, tut." And so
forth.

A small boy, leaning far over the side of the boat, gazed rapturously
into the water, announcing in shrill tones that he could see to the very
bottom, an anxious elder sister grasping the back of his jersey
meanwhile. A girl with a pigtail jumped about in a manner calculated to
bring an abrupt and watery conclusion to the passage, till forcibly
restrained by her melancholy-looking father. A young man announced that
it was going to be, "Deuced hot on shore, what?" And a gushing young
thing of some forty summers appealed to everyone at intervals to know the
hour to the very second it would be necessary to return, since it really
would be a sin to keep the ship waiting. While the remarks from an
elderly and cynical gentleman, that, in the event of unpunctuality on her
part, it would be more probable that she would find herself waiting
indefinitely at Teneriffe, caused her to giggle hysterically, and label
him a naughty man.

"It is a matter for devout thankfulness," said the Duchessa some ten
minutes later, as she and Antony were walking across the square, "that
the _Fort Salisbury_ is large enough to permit of a certain separation
from one's fellow humans. I do not wish to be uncharitable, but their
proximity does not always appeal to me."

Antony laughed, and tossed some coppers to a small brown-faced girl, who,
clasping an infant nearly as large as herself, jabbered at him in an
unknown but wholly understandable language.

"You'll be besieged and bankrupt before you see the ship again, if you
begin that," warned the Duchessa.

"Quite possible," returned Antony smiling.

The Duchessa shook her head.

"Oh, if you are in that mood, warnings are waste of breath," she
announced.

"Quite," agreed Antony, still smiling.

He was radiantly, idiotically happy. The joy of the morning, the
brilliance of the sunshine, and the fact that the Duchessa was walking by
his side, had gone to his head like wine. If the expenditure of coppers
could impart one tenth of his happiness to others, he would fling them
broadcast, he would be a