As she recalled the parting interview with Mr. Whitney, another face seemed to flash before her vision, and a half-formed query, which had been persistently haunting her for the last few hours, now took definite shape and demanded a reply.  What would have been the result if that other, instead of leaving without one word of farewell, had asked for the hope of something better and deeper than friendship?  What would her answer have been?  Even in the friendly shadow of the deepening twilight she shrank from facing the truth gradually forcing itself upon her.

A solitary figure pacing the deck aroused her from her revery.  As he approached she recognized the young Englishman of whom Edith had spoken.  Dressed in warm jacket, with cap well pulled down over his eyes and hands clasped behind him, he strode the rolling deck with step as firm and free as though walking the streets of his native city.  She watched him with admiration, till something in his carriage reminded her of the young secretary at Fair Oaks, and in the sudden thrill of pleasure produced by that reminder there was revealed to her inner consciousness a confirmation of the truth she sought to evade.

She watched the retreating figure with flashing eyes and burning cheeks.  “It is not true!” she exclaimed, to herself, passionately.  “I do not care for him!  It was only a fancy, a foolish infatuation, of which, thank heaven, neither he nor any one else shall ever know.”

But the monarch who had taken possession of her heart, call him by what name she chose, was not to be so easily dethroned.

Meanwhile, the young English stranger passed and repassed, unconscious of the figure in the shadow, unconscious of the aversion with which one of his countrywomen regarded him because of his resemblance to another.  He, too, was vainly seeking the solution of problems which baffled him at every turn, and waging an ineffectual warfare against the invisible but potent sovereign — Love.

All that night the storm raged with increasing fury, and morning found the entire Mainwaring party “on the retired list,” as Miss Carleton expressed it.  She herself was the last to succumb, but finally forced to an ignominious surrender, she submitted to the inevitable with as good grace as possible, only stipulating that she be left entirely to herself.

Towards night the storm abated slightly, and, weary of her own thoughts, which bad been anything but agreeable, and bored by the society of her companions in misery, she wrapped her rug warmly about her and ventured out on deck.  The air, laden with salt spray, seemed invigorating, and without much difficulty she found her way to her sheltered corner of the preceding evening.  She had been seated but a few moments, however, when the young Englishman made his appearance, as preoccupied and unconscious of his surroundings and as free from any symptoms of discomfort as when she had last seen him.  The sight of him was the