"Is this where you are, Sinclair? I have been looking around for you. Have you met every one yet?" "I believe so, Mr. Beauchamp, except the tall gentleman talking to Miss MacAllister."

"Come along then and I'll introduce you before I have to receive Gardenier. . . Miss MacAllister, I am sure you will pardon me for interrupting your conversation. I should like to make these gentlemen acquainted. . . . Dr. Sinclair, the Honourable Reginald Carteret of the Imperial Maritime Customs staff. . . . Will you excuse me now? I see Commander Gardenier at the door."

Sinclair saluted Carteret with the frank, easy courtesy which suited so well his big, powerful frame and pleasant countenance. The acknowledgment was a slight, stiff bow and a brief:

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Glad to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."

The tone and the words stung Sinclair. His face lost something of its good-humour. His lips closed tightly. A gleam of anger showed for an instant in his blue eyes. The signs of irritation passed quickly. But it was in a colder and more formal tone that he uttered some commonplaces, to which Carteret made a commonplace reply.

Slight as were the changes of tone and manner, they were not lost on Miss MacAllister. She had noted the unconscious ease with which Sinclair had met Carteret, and had been surprised at the superciliousness, almost insolence, of the latter's response. She had caught that momentary flash of the eye, betraying the rising anger, immediately brought under control.

Then as the two young men exchanged a sentence or two of polite formalities, she mentally compared them. Both were tall men-with the possible exception of her father, much the tallest men in the company. Neither was less than six feet in height. The Englishman was the slighter of the two, though fairly athletic in appearance. He was black-haired and darkeyed. A black moustache and well-trimmed pointed beard gave him a foreign appearance and made him look older than his five-and-twenty years.

The Canadian was equally tall, but broad-shouldered and deep-chested. The massive head with its abundance of loosely-curled hair, so light in colour as to be almost golden, the clear-cut features, fair complexion, and singularly bright blue eyes reminded her of pictures of idealized Vikings she had seen at home. Perhaps it was more than a fanciful resemblance. Sinclair's forefathers had come from Caithness to Canada, and the blood of Norsemen probably flowed in his veins. Though older by a couple of years than the Englishman, Sinclair's fair, clean-shaven face looked years younger than Carteret's. In spite of the maturity of the broad, white forehead, it was almost a boyish face, with its cheerful, eager outlook on life.

"Allow me to apologize, Miss MacAllister, for having interrupted your conversation with Mr. Carteret. The consul simply projected me into the midst of it."

"A heavy projectile, Dr. Sinclair, for so light an explosive! With the thunder of the bombardment still in our ears, I suppose that we cannot help talking in terms of cannonading. But I assure you that no apologies are necessary. I am ever so glad to meet again a companion of our eventful voyage."

She looked so charmingly sincere that Sinclair wondered to himself if she really meant it.

"Attention! The consul is marshalling the company for dining-room parade," said Mr. Boville, the commissioner of customs.

"Exactly seven minutes and forty seconds late," said Carteret, looking at his watch.

"Beauchamp

will not recover from this for a year. He'll have to report it to the Foreign Office and ask that his leave be postponed six months as a punishment."

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Why? Is Mr. Beauchamp so particular about being punctual?" asked Miss MacAllister.

"Latest for an engagement he was ever known to be, three minutes and fifteen seconds. That was because of a typhoon."

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Pity that there were not more like him!" said the commissioner tartly.

"Commander Gardenier, you will conduct my wife to the dining-room. Mr. MacAllister, will you take in Mrs. Thomson? And Mr. Boville, Miss MacAllister. The less fortunate gentlemen will follow."

Offering his arm to Mrs. MacAllister, the consul led the way.

T

VI

ON THE DEFENSIVE

HE commissioner of customs had the honour of conducting Miss MacAllister to the table, because his official position and his long years of residence in the island gave him precedence over the newcomers, or those who were engaged in mercantile pursuits. In appearance he was ill-suited to be the escort of such a young and queenly person. He was middle-aged, very bald, rotund in figure, and so short that his head was hardly level with her shoulder.

When she took Boville's proffered arm, she realized how absurd their disproportionate statures must appear. Involuntarily she glanced around to find Sinclair. He was just offering his arm to McLeod, for lack of a lady companion. A moment later she heard their voices at her back, and knew that they had taken their places in the little procession immediately behind her and the commissioner. Then the voices ceased, and instinctively she felt that they were laughing silently. Her figure stiffened, and she held her head a trifle higher than before. Her escort made the most of his five feet one or two, but do his best he couldn't get the shiny top of his head above her shoulder.

As they entered the dining-room she caught a glimpse of McLeod's face. He was laughing undisguisedly. When she took her place at the table she found herself facing Sinclair. He was not looking at her. He was watching the last of the guests filing

in, and was trying to look unconcerned.

But there

was a suspicious quivering of his mouth and a sparkle in his eyes. Her quick Celtic blood took fire at once. "He's laughing at me," she thought to herself. "How dare he? There's no limit to the presumption of those Canadians. But I'll teach him."

Strange to say, she quite forgot how she had laughed at him on board the Hailoong. Stranger still, she seemed to take no offence at the laughter of McLeod, who also was a Canadian.

As soon as they were seated, the natives out on the verandah began to pull the cords; the punkah began to wave to and fro and creak. It wouldn't have been a punkah if it hadn't creaked. The consul, who had nerves, had striven to put an end to the creaking, but had failed. The creak was an essential part of the punkah. But there was no creaking about the movements of the waiters. Noiseless as spectres, the boys" in their long blue gowns moved quickly in and out, back and forth, their felt-soled shoes sliding silently over the smooth tiled floor.

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"Commander Gardenier, we have all been models of patience. No one has asked you how the day went at Keelung. But you cannot expect us to wait much longer. Such virtue would be superhuman. Do tell the company what all the noise was about to-day and who got the better of it."

A murmur of applause greeted the consul's request, and all eyes turned towards the bronzed sailor who sat beside Mrs. Beauchamp. He seemed a little uncomfortable under the expectant gaze of so many eyes and answered modestly:

"I do not know that I can, tell you much about it. The French had three ships at it. On their part the