her. Not that good women are lacking in the Islands, but because they
were on a different plane to me. I had been belting native crews on
trading schooners between the Carolines and the Marquesas, and when
ashore I had little opportunity for speaking to a woman of the type of
Edith Herndon.

And she understood the feeling that held me tongue-tied. To make me feel
at my ease she started to tell of everything that had happened from the
moment that _The Waif_ had cleared Sydney Heads, and the time she
spent in that recital was as precious to me as the two-minute interval
between rounds is to a prize-fighter who has been knocked silly the
moment before the round ends. I had shaken the dizziness out of my head
when she finished, and I had obtained control over my tongue.

"You must tell us a lot about the South Seas," she cried. "You have been
down here such a long time that you must have many interesting things to
relate. Captain Newmarch will not talk, and Mr. Leith refuses to see
anything picturesque in the sights he has seen during his wanderings."

"Who is Mr. Leith?" I asked.

"He is father's partner in this expedition," she said quietly. "He has
lived down here for many years, but he will not tell us much. And
Barbara is anxious to know everything she can."

"Barbara?" I stammered. "Then--then there is another lady aboard?"

"Oh, yes! my sister," cried the girl. "I think I hear her coming now."

There was no question about the latter part of her remark. A burst of