"By Jove, here's a lark!" exclaimed Starr, at the breakfast table, looking up from the Paris Herald.

It was at the Amstel Hotel, on our fourth morning, and he and I were taking coffee together, as an Ancient Mariner and his Albatross should. The ladies had not yet appeared, for they were breakfasting in their rooms.

"What's up?" I asked.

"It's under the latest news of your Queen's doings," said he, and began to read aloud: "'Jonkheer Brederode, who is equally popular in English and Dutch society and sporting circles, has taken for the season a large motor-boat, in which he is touring the waterways of Holland, with a party of invited friends, among whom is Lady MacNairne. It was her portrait, as everybody knows, painted by the clever American artist, Mr. R. L. Starr, which was so much admired at the Paris Salon this spring.' Funny, how they strung that story together, isn't it? But it's a bore—er—in the circumstances, their having got hold of my aunt's name."

"People who weave tangled webs mustn't be surprised if they get caught in them sometimes," said I.

"I wonder how Miss Van Buren will like this? She's sure to see it," Starr went on, reflectively.

How she liked it mattered more to me than to anybody else, because if she disliked it, I was the person upon whom her vexation would be visited. But there was a still more important point which apparently hadn't come under the Mariner's consideration. How would Lady MacNairne's husband like it?

Evidently Starr doesn't know that there has been an upset of some sort between Sir Alec and the charming Fleda; and as Fleda is his aunt, but has not confided in her nephew (while she has in me) no matter what trouble the newspaper paragraph may cause for the entire party, it would be a breach of confidence for me to enlighten him.

"By Jove," I said to myself, "what will MacNairne do if he sees in the paper that his wife, who has run away from home without telling him where she's staying, is the principal guest on board a boat of mine? I ought to warn Starr that there may be a crash, but I can't."

The only thing I could do was to pump him, in the hope that he knew more of his aunt's affairs than I supposed.

"My stock's pretty far down in the market with Miss Van Buren already," said I. "It can't go lower. I wonder how these asses think of such nonsense? But I suppose it came of registering 'Lorelei' in my name, which I had to do, to use the flag of the Sailing and Rowing Club of Rotterdam. Somebody heard of the boat's being registered by Rudolph Brederode, and voila the consequences. But where is Lady MacNairne?"

"Heavens, don't yell at the top of your voice," groaned Starr, in a dreadful whisper. "There may be some one at the next table who can speak English. I've had an awful lesson, as nobody knows better than you, to behave in a restaurant as if I were at church. The real Lady McN., who is not up-stairs at the present moment breakfasting with Tibe, may be in Kamschatka for all I know, though I think it probable she's not. All I do know is that she's never answered two frantic telegrams of mine. She's not at home. She may be anywhere else—except in Holland, where she's wanted."

"It would be awkward if she should turn up now," I remarked.

"Was wanted, I ought to have said. But she's such a good pal, I should fix things up with her somehow."

"I doubt if you would with her husband," I thought, though aloud I said nothing. I was sure now that he was in ignorance of the situation, blissful ignorance, since he could not guess what developments it might lead to for him, and for the Chaperon whom he had provided at such cost.

"If anything happens, I shall have to help him through it somehow," I decided, "as it's more than half my fault, registering 'Lorelei' in my name. Besides, I can't let the party be broken up, until I've had a fair chance to raise Brederode stock in the market."

To know that at any moment Sir Alec MacNairne might pounce upon us, denounce the Chaperon as a fraud, disgust the girls with Starr, and put a sudden end to the adventure as far as the two men in it were concerned, was not conducive to appetite. I forgot whether I had just begun my breakfast, or just finished it, but in either case it interested me no more than eggs and toast would have interested Damocles at the moment of discovering the sword.

"The principal thing is not to let the girls see the Herald," said Starr.

I wished it were the principal thing; still, I said nothing, and getting up, we went into the hall.

"Miss Van Buren would think it cool of you, perhaps, if she knew you'd registered her boat in your name," said Starr, taking up the subject again. "She wouldn't understand——"

"What would Miss Van Buren think cool?" asked Miss Van Buren's voice behind us, and the Mariner started as if we were conspirators.

"Oh, nothing particular," he answered limply.

"Please tell me."

"I'll tell you," I said, with a sudden determination that she should know the worst, and do her worst, and be conquered by something stronger than her prejudice. The tug-of-war was coming between us now, that tug-of-war I had been expecting and almost desiring.

"I registered your boat in my name," I said calmly, "and Starr thinks you wouldn't understand."

She threw up her head, flushing. "I don't understand."

"It gives us the right to use the flag of my club."

"We could have got on without it."

"Often with grave inconvenience."

"I would have risked that."

"Forgive me, but amateurs are always ready to take risks."

(At this moment I became aware that Starr had slipped away.)

"Isn't it rather late," she flashed at me, "to ask my forgiveness for—anything?"

"It was a mere civility," I answered with equal insolence. "I've done nothing for which I've felt the need of your forgiveness, Miss Van Buren; but if you think I have, pray tell me once for all what it was, that I may defend myself."

"You don't feel," she echoed, "that you've done anything for which you need my forgiveness? Oh, then you're more hardened than I thought. I hoped that by this time you were repenting."

"Repenting of what?"

"Of everything. Of—putting yourself in your present position, among other things."

"You mean in the position of your skipper? I may say, that if I haven't repented, it isn't your fault. But, really, I've been so busy trying to make myself useful to the party in more ways than one, that I've had no time for repentance."

"Oh, you have made yourself useful," she had the grace to admit. "If—it hadn't been for the beginning, I—I should have been grateful. You know things which none of the rest of us know. You've shown us sights which without you we should never have seen or heard of. But as it is, how can I, why should I, be grateful? It's only for the sake of the others, and their pleasure, that I——"

"So you said before," I broke in. "But now I refuse to accept toleration from you—we won't say consideration, for that's too warm a word—for the sake of others. The boat is yours. I am your skipper. If, after serving you as well as I could for a week, you wish me to go, I will go."

She stood and stared at me from under lashes meant only for sweet looks.

"You will go?"

"Certainly. This moment. I only wait your word." I heard myself saying it; and in a way I was sincere, though I was the same man who, only a few minutes since, had vowed to do anything rather than let the trip end. Of course I would have to go now, if she told me to go. But I knew that I should not go. As skipper, I was her servant, if she chose to give me the name; but as a man I felt myself her master.

"I—I—" she faltered, and I saw her throat flutter. "You're putting me in a horrid position. We—I thought we'd settled this matter, things being as they are."

"Not at all," said I. "Nothing was settled."

"You're Mr. Starr's friend, and I can't send you away."

"You can, easily," I replied. "And since that appears to be your only reason for not doing so, I'll not wait for your orders to go. Good-by, Miss Van Buren, I'll do my best to get you another skipper, a professional this time."

I moved a step away, and my blood was beating fast. Everything depended on the next instant.

"Stop! Please stop," she said.

I stopped, and looked at her coldly.

For a moment we stood regarding each other in silence, for it seemed that, having detained me, she could think of nothing more to say. But suddenly she broke out, with a fierce little stamp of the foot.

"Oh! Sometimes I can understand why it was that Philip liked to torture the Dutch."

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. But it would have spoiled everything for me if I had laughed.

"You have tortured the Dutch," said I. "But now it's finished. The Dutch have tired of the torture."

"Oh, you're tired? Then you had better go, I suppose. Why are you waiting?"

"You stopped me for something. What was it?"

"I—hardly know. It was only—I was going to propose——"

"You were going to propose?"

"That—you stayed a little longer. You were to take us—them, I mean—on an excursion to-day in your motor-car. They're getting ready now. They'll be—so disappointed."

"I'll lend you—them—my car and my chauffeur."

"No, it would be horrid without y—It would be too ungracious. I—they—couldn't accept."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't you think maybe you'd better stay a little longer?"

"No, Miss Van Buren, I go now, or I—go with you to the end." I wonder if she guessed just what I meant by those words? "I'll not stop, after what's passed between us, for a day longer, except on two conditions."

"Conditions? You make conditions with me?"

"Certainly, I have the right."

"You are extraordinary."

"I am a Dutchman."

"Oh, here comes Lady MacNairne—in her motor-coat and hood. She bought them yesterday—because they're Tibe-color. What excuse can I make? Oh, what are your conditions?"

"First, that you tell me you want me to stay."

"I do—on their account."

"That's not the way."

"Well, then, I ask you to stay. I hope your next condition isn't as hard."

"You must be the judge. It is, that you'll be civil to me, and friendly—at least in appearance. I have done, and will do my best for you and 'Lorelei.' In return, I'll have no more snubs."

"But if they've been deserved? No! I won't be brow-beaten."

"Nor will I. Good-by, again, Miss Van Buren."

"Here comes Phil now, in her motoring things. Oh dear! Have it as you like. I will—be nice to you."

She smiled in spite of herself, or else to encourage me with a sample of future treatment; and giving way to impulse at last, I held out my hand.

"Shake hands on the bargain, then, and it's signed and sealed," I said.

She laid her fingers delicately in mine, and dared not look resentful when I gently pressed them.

For all I cared, she might see the Paris Herald now. For all I cared, the sky might fall.