Leaving the devotee of statecraft with his legs crossed, and his face wearing the cognizant air of one whose head is above the waters of events, to enjoy the mighty meal of fresh and salted at discretion, the Countess dived below.

Meantime the Jocasta, as smoothly as before she was ignorant of how the world wagged, slipped up the river with the tide; and the sun hung red behind the forest of masts, burnishing a broad length of the serpentine haven of the nations of the earth.  A young Englishman returning home can hardly look on this scene without some pride of kinship.  Evan stood at the fore part of the vessel.  Rose, in quiet English attire, had escaped from her aunt to join him, singing in his ears, to spur his senses:  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?  Isn’t it beautiful?  Dear old England!’

‘What do you find so beautiful?’ he asked.

’Oh, you dull fellow!  Why the ships, and the houses, and the smoke, to be sure.’

‘The ships?  Why, I thought you despised trade, mademoiselle?’

’And so I do.  That is, not trade, but tradesmen.  Of course, I mean shopkeepers.’

’It’s they who send the ships to and fro, and make the picture that pleases you, nevertheless.’

‘Do they?’ said she, indifferently, and then with a sort of fervour, ’Why do you always grow so cold to me whenever we get on this subject?’

‘I cold?’ Evan responded.  The incessant fears of his diplomatic sister had succeeded in making him painfully jealous of this subject.  He turned it off.  ’Why, our feelings are just the same.  Do you know what I was thinking when you came up?  I was thinking that I hoped I might never disgrace the name of an Englishman.’

‘Now, that’s noble!’ cried the girl.  ’And I’m sure you never will.  Of an English gentleman, Evan.  I like that better.’

’Would your rather be called a true English lady than a true English woman, Rose?’

‘Don’t think I would, my dear,’ she answered, pertly; ’but “gentleman” always means more than “man” to me.’

‘And what’s a gentleman, mademoiselle?’

‘Can’t tell you, Don Doloroso.  Something you are, sir,’ she added, surveying him.

Evan sucked the bitter and the sweet of her explanation.  His sister in her anxiety to put him on his guard, had not beguiled him to forget his real state.

His sister, the diplomatist and his lady, the refugee Count, with ladies’ maids, servants, and luggage, were now on the main-deck, and Master Alec, who was as good as a newspaper correspondent for private conversations, put an end to the colloquy of the young people.  They were all assembled in a circle when the vessel came to her moorings.  The diplomatist glutted with news, and thirsting for confirmations; the Count dumb, courteous, and quick-eyed; the honourable lady complacent in the consciousness of boxes well packed; the Countess breathing mellifluous long-drawn adieux that should provoke invitations.  Evan and Rose regarded each other.