She could not tell Hugh of her discovery, for she knew that he would be unreasonable, perhaps do or say something which would make the wound more painful.  During the days that followed Veath was as pleasant, as genial, as gallant as before; none but Grace observed the faint change in his manner.  She was sure she could distinguish a change, yet at times, when he was gayest, she thrilled with the hope that her belief was the outgrowth of a conceit which she was beginning for the first time to know she possessed.  Then came the belief again and the belief was stronger than the doubt.  She could not be mistaken.

In the meantime an unexpected complication forced itself upon Hugh Ridgeway.  Perforce he had been thrown more or less constantly into the society of that charming creature, Lady Huntingford.  Not that the young rakes in uniform were content to pass her by, but because she plainly preferred the young American.  It had not occurred to Mr. Ridgeway that his Lordship might be expected, with reasonable propriety, to unmask a jealous streak in addition to other disagreeable traits.  The British subalterns probably knew the temper of the old diplomat’s mind, which, in a degree, explains their readiness to forgo the pleasure of a mild flirtation with her Ladyship.  Hugh, feeling like a despised pariah, naturally turned to her in his banishment.  She was his friend, his one beacon of light in the dark sea of unhappiness.

Others noticed it; but Hugh was blind to the scowl which never left the face of Lord Huntingford in these days.  The old nobleman knew full well that his wife loathed and detested him—­just as the whole ship knew it; his pride rankled and writhed with the fear that she was finding more than friendship to enjoy in her daily intercourse with the good-looking Mr. Ridge.  Gradually it became noticeable that he was watching her every act with spiteful eyes, and more than one observer winked softly at his neighbor, and shook his head with a meaning unmistakable.

The clash came one night in the Red Sea, just before the ship reached Aden.  Hugh, reviling himself and the whole world, had been compelled to stand by and see Lieutenant Gilmore, a dashing Irishman, drag the unwilling Miss Ridge off for a waltz.  Her protestations had been of no avail; Gilmore was abominable enough to say that she had no right to stow herself away with a stupid old brother when there were so many “real nice chaps on board.”  And this in Hugh’s presence, too!  And he could not resent it!  Alone and miserable the pariah sent his unspoken, bitter lamentation to the stars as he stood in savage loneliness far aft, listening to the strains of waltz music.

“’Pon my soul!  Of all the assinine idiots, bar none, the enlightened inspirer of this glorious voyage certainly ranks supreme!  And I didn’t have brains enough to foresee that this would surely happen!  Brains?  Faugh!  Chump!”

Hugh might have apostrophized himself in this fashion until dawn had not a harsh, rasping voice from out of the semi-darkness broken in on his doleful revery.