On deck once more, she encountered the suave Senor Pages. He
stood at the rail surveying Rio's shores with that lip-curling
contempt of the Argentine for everything Brazilian. He regarded
Emma McChesney's radiant face.

"You are pleased with this--this Indian Rio?"

Mrs. McChesney paused to gaze with him at the receding shores.

"Like it! I'm afraid I haven't seen it. From here it looks
like Coney. But it buys like Seattle. Like it! Well, I should
say I do!"

"Ah, senora," exclaimed Pages, distressed, "wait! In six days
you will behold Buenos Aires. Your New York, Londres,
Paris--bah! You shall drive with my wife and daughter through
Palermo. You shall see jewels, motors, toilettes as never
before. And you will visit my establishment?" He raised an
emphatic forefinger. "But surely!"

Emma McChesney regarded him solemnly.

"I promise to do that. You may rely on me."

Six days later they swept up the muddy and majestic Plata, whose
color should have won it the name of River of Gold instead of
River of Silver. From the boat's upper deck, Emma McChesney
beheld a sky line which was so like the sky line of her own New
York that it gave her a shock. She was due for still another
shock when, an hour later, she found herself in a maelstrom of