first time he became conscious that she not only had an interest in others, but apparently a superior knowledge of them.  How did she know these things about this man, and why had she only now accidentally spoken of them? He would have done so.  All this passed so vaguely through his unreflective mind, that he was unable to retain any decided impression, but the far-reaching one that his lodger had obtained some occult influence over her through the exhibition of his baleful skill in the horsehair speculation.  “Them tricks is likely to take a young girl’s fancy.  I must look arter her,” he said to himself softly.

A slow regular step in the gangway interrupted his paternal reflections.  Hastily buttoning across his chest the pea-jacket which he usually wore at home as a single concession to his nautical surroundings, he drew himself up with something of the assumption of a shipmaster, despite certain bucolic suggestions of his boots and legs.  The footsteps approached nearer, and a tall figure suddenly stood in the doorway.

It was a figure so extraordinary that even in the strange masquerade of that early civilization it was remarkable; a figure with whom father and daughter were already familiar without abatement of wonder—­the figure of a rejuvenated old man, padded, powdered, dyed, and painted to the verge of caricature, but without a single suggestion of ludicrousness or humor.  A face so artificial that it seemed almost a mask, but, like a mask, more pathetic than amusing.  He was dressed in the extreme of fashion of a dozen years before; his pearl—­gray trousers strapped tightly over his varnished boots, his voluminous satin cravat and high collar embraced his rouged cheeks and dyed whiskers, his closely-buttoned frock coat clinging to a waist that seemed accented by stays.

He advanced two steps into the cabin with an upright precision of motion that might have hid the infirmities of age, and said deliberately with a foreign accent: 

“You-r-r ac-coumpt?”

In the actual presence of the apparition Mr. Nott’s dignified resistance wavered.  But glancing uneasily at his daughter and seeing her calm eyes fixed on the speaker without embarrassment, he folded his arms stiffly, and with a lofty simulation of examining the ceiling, said: 

“Ahem!  Rosa!  The gentleman’s account.”

It was an infelicitous action.  For the stranger, who evidently had not noticed the presence of the young girl before, started, took a step quickly forward, bent stiffly but profoundly over the little hand that held the account, raised it to his lips, and with “a thousand pardons, mademoiselle,” laid a small canvas bag containing the rent before the disorganized Mr. Nott and stiffly vanished.