item to her list.

The sailor inquired, more civilly--"Then you are acquainted with
trepang?"

"Who?"

"Trepang--_bêche-de-mer_, you know."

Iris made a desperate guess. "Yes," she said, demurely. "It makes
beautiful backs for hair brushes. And it looks so nice as a frame for
platinotype photographs. I have--"

Jenks swallowed a large piece of ham and became very red. At last he
managed to say--"I beg your pardon. You are thinking of tortoise-shell.
_Bêche-de-mer_ is a sort of marine slug."

"How odd!" said Iris.

She had discovered at an early age the tactical value of this remark,
and the experience of maturer years confirmed the success of juvenile
efforts to upset the equanimity of governesses. Even the sailor was
silenced.

Talk ceased until the meal was ended. Jenks sprang lightly to his feet.
Rest and food had restored his faculties. The girl thought dreamily, as
he stood there in his rough attire, that she had never seen a finer
man. He was tall, sinewy, and well formed. In repose his face was
pleasant, if masterful. Its somewhat sullen, self-contained expression
was occasional and acquired. She wondered how he could be so energetic.