hat the twins be discussed first, in
virtue of their loveliness.

Peter had first contemplated Peggy and Helen
Whipple in the _King of Asia's_ dining-room. It would
have been a rather impossible thing not to see Peggy and
Helen Whipple, if you were young, and with fair eyesight.

At the first dinner after leaving the Golden Gate
Peter had gone into the dining-room rather early, as
he skipped tiffin (by reason of an empty pocket) and
was ravenously hungry.

He had looked up over his first spoonful of
mulligatawny a la Capron to meet the clear, undistilled,
brown-eyed gaze of Peggy Whipple, who had seated
herself at the captain's table. In that liquid,
brown-eyed gaze had lurked a sparkle of mischief, a slightly
arrogant look of inquisitive scrutiny, and perhaps a
playful invitation.

As Peggy Whipple gave him that mischievous, liquid-brown
glance when he was in the act of lifting a level
soupspoonful to his lips, he did not, as a man might
do under the circumstances, spill the soup upon the
tablecloth, or back into the dish; nor did he pause in
the work of lifting the liquid to his mouth.

He did not have to look at the spoon to guide its
passage to his mouth. Without spilling a drop, he
captained the spoon to its destination, maintaining his
clear, deep-blue eyes upon the beautiful brown ones of
the young passenger. And, without lowering his eyes
once, he lifted the loaded spoon up twice in succession.

This skillful management brought a smile to the
pretty face of the girl. Perhaps she had expected him
to spill the soup under her glance; it was to be
expected; more than probably the thing had happened in
past episodes of Peggy, for she was distractingly fair
to look upon, and her turned-up nose should have
disarmed any man.

Her hair was golden and sleek and drawn back
straight from her low, white forehead and knotted
together in the back, calling attention to a neck that was
slim and beautifully proportioned. Pink and white and
gold described her. She seemed to bristle with a sort
of fidgety energy, as if she had so much youth and
loveliness stored up in her that she had a tremendous time
keeping it all within bounds.

After Peter had slowly, but not at all insolently or
impudently, taken all of this in, in the time required to
stow away three heaping spoonfuls of mulligatawny a
la Capron, by dead reckoning, she looked away from
him with a little pout.

Peter followed her glance. He had no