BARGAINS, GREAT AND SMALL Lord Ventnor was no fool.

Whilst Iris was transforming herself from a semi-savage condition into a semblance of an ultra _chic_ Parisienne--the _Orient's_ dramatic costumier went in for strong stage effects in feminine attire--Sir Arthur Deane told the Earl something of the state of affairs on the island.
His lordship--a handsome, saturnine man, cool, insolently polite, and plentifully endowed with the judgmatical daring that is the necessary equipment of a society libertine--counseled patience, toleration, even silent recognition of Anstruther's undoubted claims for services rendered.
"She is an enthusiastic, high-spirited girl," he urged upon his surprised hearer, who expected a very different expression of opinion.
"This fellow Anstruther is a plausible sort of rascal, a good man in a tight place too--just the sort of fire-eating blackguard who would fill the heroic bill where a fight is concerned.

Damn him, he licked me twice." Further amazement for the shipowner.
"Yes, it's quite true.

I interfered with his little games, and he gave me the usual reward of the devil's apothecary.

Leave Iris alone.