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 shore," he said, speaking in French. "She has been inspired to leave her hat in her cabin and step out on deck for a farewell to Africa; and we should be grateful to the inspiration. You don't see how perfectly her head with that smooth hair is a golden helmet? Never in my life have I seen a woman who stood so well poised; and under that crest of old pale gold she is—ah, I have discovered it! She is Diana helmeted! I have these extraordinary thoughts of people, and you never appreciate them. Don't you see she is Diana?"

But his companion was a Scandinavian of the abysmal school, and he shook his head. "I know Diana with a bow and quiver, but not with a helmet. The lady there is just a woman. Probably her husband is an officer on duty in Africa or an adviser of the Bey of Tunis and she is wondering what sort of girl he has begun to flirt with since seeing her off at the dock."

"No. She is thoughtful, a little impassive; but she is radiant."

"Then she is thinking of the man, not her husband, who will meet her when we disembark."

"Not at all," the Italian insisted. "She is not thinking of any man. She is Diana. This is a