On the afternoon of the second day out he looked up from his book, and found Mr. and Mrs. Dallas seated near him. He was partly hid by a pile of rope, over which, however, it was easy to see them. He folded his paper noiselessly, and, leaning back, began to watch them furtively. As usual, they were silent. The man was smoking cigarettes one after another, and looking apathetically at the water. The woman's eyes were on the water, too; but their expression was certainly not apathetic. Noel had never been so puzzled to read a face. He was not only an artist, but also a very human-hearted man; and he longed to go beneath that lovely surface, and read the thoughts of this woman's mind. Now and then she turned a puzzled gaze upon her husband, who seemed completely unconscious of both it and her. Once she spoke, and the strong accent in her painstaking English was fascinating to Noel's ears. She only inquired if her husband were comfortable and satisfied to stay here. When he answered affirmatively, she spoke again,--this time so low that Noel caught only the last word, "Robert." It was pronounced in the French manner, and came from her lips very winningly. "Can't you say Robert?" said her husband, bluntly. "People will laugh at you if you talk like that." "I vill try," she answered, and turned her eyes away across the water. Noel fancied he saw them widen with tears for a moment; and he looked to see if her companion were watching her, but his whole attention was given to the cigarette he was rolling. In a few moments, at the man's suggestion, they rose and walked away. Noel noticed that she looked at no one as she passed along on her husband's arm; but he interpreted this to be not shyness nor self-consciousness, but rather a sort of instinct against giving any one that opportunity of looking into her heart through her eyes.