CHAPTER EIGHTThe Marquis walked into the Saloon of his yacht and found Perdita poring over a number of books.
“It is getting choppy outside,” he told her. “What are you doing?”
“I am learning Arabic.”
“Arabic!” he exclaimed incredulously. “How can you?
She laughed up at him as he stood beside her swaying with the movement of the yacht.
“I know a little already,” she answered, “and it is not very difficult. I hope to speak quite proficiently by the time we reach Tangier.”
“You are incredible,” he said and sitting down in a chair continued, “I never expected a female to be such a good sailor. I anticipated that in this weather you would be prostrate and yearning only for the sight of land.”
“I love the sea,” Perdita answered simply. “And who could complain of discomfort in a yacht as
