“Oh, you are the new mate?” she cried, as I was introduced.  “Mr. Holman was just telling me about you.  He said that you repeated a chapter of ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ every time you woke up after a sleep.”

I blushed as I made a mental resolve that I would punch the head of that youngster when I had a suitable opportunity, and in between my stammering explanations I made notes on the differences between the two girls.  Edith was as stately as Juno, with a face that was so sweet and restful that a glance at it was better than an opiate for a man whose nerves were all out of tune.  She had that kind of repose that you see sometimes on the face of an Oriental statue, the repose that comes to women who have met great trials or for whom great trials are waiting.  Barbara was altogether different.  She found the world rather an amusing place, and it seemed as if she took it for granted that her sister was capable of shouldering the cares of the family, leaving her free to smile at all the amusing incidents she found in the course of the day.

It appeared to me that I was an amusing incident to her at that moment.  She returned to the fool story that Holman had told, and I couldn’t sidestep her questions.

“But it is true that you were quoting Bunyan on the wharf when Mr. Holman found you, isn’t it?” she asked mischievously.

“No, it isn’t true,” I spluttered.  “I only asked Mr. Holman a question to see if he was familiar with ’Pilgrim’s Progress’.”

“Why did you ask him that?” she quizzed.  “I’m sure he looks a perfectly respectable young man.”

Miss Edith was smiling, but she took pity upon me at last and endeavoured to rescue me from my tormentor.

“Oh, Barbara!” she cried reprovingly, “Mr. Verslun will think you are very inquisitive.  You must not pry into his private affairs.”

“But it is nothing private,” I gurgled.  “I simply asked Mr. Holman a question in an endeavour to find out what a Maori and a Fijian were talking about.”

“Oh, it is something mysterious!” cried the younger girl.  “I knew it!  I knew it!  We are getting into the region of mystery at last!  Oh, Mr. Verslun, you are a perfect treasure!  It has been a nasty, dull, old trip from the moment we left Sydney Harbour, and you are the first person to bring a little colour into the voyage.”

She was so worked up at the thought of hearing something wonderfully mysterious and romantic that I started to make a long yarn out of that incident on the wharf just for her benefit.  Miss Edith was interested too, but I was convinced, as I polished up the points of the little tale and endeavoured to pull in a thrill, that the elder sister was deriving her pleasure from watching the face of the younger one, and not from my story.

“It pleases Barbara,” she cried, when I had told how Toni had denied all knowledge of his friend, and how the Maori had sent the farewell chant after the boat.  “She thinks she will see and hear wonderful things before we get back to civilization.”