I wore Mrs. Richards’ short veil, pinned round one of her caps. Sir Frederick Thompson stared much, and twice endeavoured to draw me into conversation, but whenever I spoke I found that the people seated near suspended their talk to catch what fell from my mouth, and their curiosity so greatly embarrassed me that I answered the little City knight in monosyllables only, and presently silenced him, so far as I was concerned. I was thankful to notice, however, that my presence was fast growing familiar to the majority of the passengers. The two Miss Glanvilles, and one or two others, constantly gazed at me; it was, in fact, very easy to see that I was much in the minds of those two handsome girls. Nothing could so perfectly fit their romantic humours as a veiled woman, an ocean mystery, a lonely soul-blinded creature, from the pages of whose volume of life the printed story of the past had been washed out by salt water, leaving a number of blank leaves upon which their imagination might inscribe what tale they would. But the rest of the passengers ate and drank and talked, and scarcely heeded me. Some of the people sitting near the captain spoke of the voyage and the present situation of the ship. I heard Captain Ladmore say that he hoped to be abreast of Madeira next day sometime in the afternoon! ‘Where is Madeira?’ I asked Mrs. Lee. ‘It is in the Atlantic,’ she said smiling; ‘it is an island. Did not I tell you that I went there with Alice? Over and over again, before your memory left you, have you heard of Madeira. Is it possible that the image of an island does not occur to you when you pronounce the name of it?’ I hung my head. ‘I shall be glad,’ she continued, ‘when we have passed Madeira; for Alice will then be able to go on deck. The sun will be hot, and every day it will grow hotter; yet I dread the heat of the tropics. The fiery heat of that part of the sea often proves more injurious to very delicate invalids like Alice than excessive cold; and if we should be becalmed! _That_ fear makes me wish I had chosen a steamer. And yet a steamer would have been too swift for our purpose.’ ‘What do you mean by being becalmed?’ said I. ‘A ship is becalmed when the wind drops and leaves her motionless,’ she answered. ‘I have heard of a ship becalmed on the equator for six weeks at a time. Indeed, I wish I knew less about the sea than I do. The captains who called upon my husband were full of the ocean, and unsparing in their experiences. Imagine if we were to be for six weeks in a roasting calm under the almost vertical sun! It might kill Alice.’