"But you are English. You are therefore at home on the rolling deep,"
murmured Monsieur de Poincilit, confidentially. She did not endeavor
to interpret his expressive glance, though he seemed to convey more
that he said.
"Not so much at home at sea as you are in my language," she replied,
and she turned to Dr. Christobal, whom she had already known slightly
in Valparaiso.
"Are you coming on deck?" she inquired. "I am sure you are a mine of
information on Chile, and I want to extract some of the ore while the
land is still visible. It is already assuming the semblance of a
dream."
"You are not saying a last farewell to Valparaiso, I hope?" said her
elderly companion, as they quitted the salon.
"I think so. I have no ties there, save those of sentiment. I shall
not return, unless, if a doubtful fortune permits, I am able some day
to revisit two graves which are dear to me."
There was a little catch in her voice, and the doctor was far too
sympathetic to endeavor forthwith to divert her sad thoughts.
"I knew your father," he said gently. "He was a most admirable man,
but quite unsuited to the environment of a new country, where the
dollar is god, and an unstable deity at that.
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