At last he managed to say--"I beg your pardon.

You are thinking of tortoise-shell.
_Beche-de-mer_ is a sort of marine slug." "How odd!" said Iris.
She had discovered at an early age the tactical value of this remark, and the experience of maturer years confirmed the success of juvenile efforts to upset the equanimity of governesses.

Even the sailor was silenced.
Talk ceased until the meal was ended.

Jenks sprang lightly to his feet.
Rest and food had restored his faculties.

The girl thought dreamily, as he stood there in his rough attire, that she had never seen a finer man.