occupied for more than ten minutes.  Launce made the signal to Natalie at one door, while the stewardess went out by the other.  In a moment more the lovers were united in a private room.  Is it necessary to say in what language the proceedings were opened?  Surely not!  There is an inarticulate language of the lips in use on these occasions in which we are all proficient, though we sometimes forget it in later life.  Natalie seated herself on a locker.  The tea, sugar, and spices were at her back, a side of bacon swung over her head, and a net full of lemons dangled before her face.  It might not be roomy, but it was snug and comfortable.

“Suppose they call for the steward?” she suggested. ("Don’t, Launce!”)

“Never mind.  We shall be safe enough if they do.  The steward has only to show himself on deck, and they will suspect nothing.”

“Do be quiet, Launce!  I have got dreadful news to tell you.  And, besides, my aunt will expect to see me with my braid sewn on again.”

She had brought her needle and thread with her.  Whipping up the skirt of her dress on her knee, she bent forward over it, and set herself industriously to the repair of the torn trimming.  In this position her lithe figure showed charmingly its firm yet easy line.  The needle, in her dexterous brown fingers, flew through its work.  The locker was a broad one; Launce was able to seat himself partially behind her.  In this position who could have resisted the temptation to lift up her great knot of broadly-plaited black hair, and to let the warm, dusky nape of her neck disclose itself to view?  Who, looking at it, could fail to revile the senseless modern fashion of dressing the hair, which hides the double beauty of form and color that nestles at the back of a woman’s neck?  From time to time, as the interview proceeded, Launce’s lips emphasized the more important words occurring in his share of the conversation on the soft, fragrant skin which the lifted hair let him see at intervals.  In Launce’s place, sir, you would have done it too.

“Now, Natalie, what is the news?”

“He has spoken to papa, Launce.”

“Richard Turlington?”

“Yes.”

“D—­n him!”

Natalie started.  A curse addressed to the back of your neck, instantly followed by a blessing in the shape of a kiss, is a little trying when you are not prepared for it.

“Don’t do that again, Launce!  It was while you were on deck smoking, and when I was supposed to be fast asleep.  I opened the ventilator in my cabin door, dear, and I heard every word they said.  He waited till my aunt was out of the way, and he had got papa all to himself, and then he began it in that horrible, downright voice of his—­’Graybrooke! how much longer am I to wait?’”

“Did he say that?”